


Where the Wild Roses Grow

by RuinNine



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angels, Art, Demons, F/M, Family Dynamics, Friendship, Ghosts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-03-26 05:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3838906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuinNine/pseuds/RuinNine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A simple inheritance broadens Fernando's world to thrice its size. Angels and demons, he can cope with. But then there's this ghost who's bent on giving him hell. </p><p>And that is the real challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story started out as a simple oneshot challenge: Lu said Sergio would get at least one more red card during the remaining games of the season, I said he wouldn't. As you can see, I lost. But this is the 2013/2014 season we're talking about, so I was indebted to Lu for one and a half years! ^^ I'm so sorry, darling! She asked for a ghost story, and here it is. It spiralled completely out of control and grew into this huge thing - by my standards, anyway. I've been inspired by a mix of movies, series and a manga (Clamp's "Wish"), and the title is of course based on the amazing song by Kylie Minogue and Nick Cave. 
> 
> Now, the most important thing: many many many thanks and bear hugs and kisses to Lu who kept me going all this time, who kept me on my toes with all her questions and suggestions and who made sure this story improved every time we talked about it! շնորհակալություն, honey! <3
> 
> Still no native speaker.

— † —

 

 

It was an old house, hidden behind a number of large conifers, but the beautiful red of the bricks and the spotless white of the many window frames were shining through the dark branches. It was surrounded by a freshly mowed lawn and the cobblestone driveway was as impeccable as everything else, and it looked more like a movie set from one of those corny nineteenth century TV shows than the supposedly run-down lair of his supposedly mad uncle. Fernando once again checked the number on the grey gate. Number 9. He shrugged and pushed the gate open before waving the removers through.

 

Fernando hadn't known his uncle, the black sheep of the family, not personally anyway. He had fallen ill and gone mad before his nephew could even walk, and the embarrassment of it had been too much for his sister and her upper class husband. They'd immediately cut him off the family dinner invitation list and banned him from coming near their golden son, for fear of him being corrupted. Fernando allowed himself a smile. Too bad he had followed in his uncle's footsteps of being a painter anyway, against the will of his parents who had wished for a more esteemed profession.

 

It was an odd coincidence that, just when Fernando – barely out of university and working on his first big exhibition – was looking for a suitable place to rent where he could live and work, his uncle had suddenly died and bequeathed his house and fortune to the nephew he had never met. As odd as it may seem though, Fernando was a practical kind of person and didn't look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when he desperately needed a place to stay. But he had a kind and compassionate soul, so he sent a quick thanks heavenwards as he unlocked the door to his new home.

 

The solicitor must have had someone looking after the estate, as the interior looked just as well-kept and homey, the sun shining in through the windows and bathing everything in a warm light. Fernando wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it certainly wasn't this. From the horrid tales his parents had told him about his insane uncle, he'd thought he'd find barred windows, a dusty house and the usual signs of someone suffering from serious compulsive hoarding issues. What he hadn't expected were perfectly clean rooms, if a bit untidy in places. It almost looked like someone was still living here, as if his uncle hadn't died three months ago.

 

A shiver ran down his spine, and Fernando shook his head to get rid of these thoughts. “Thank you, uncle,” he murmured as he ran his fingertips over the back of an armchair. “Thank you for everything. I wish we could've met.”

 

When all his boxes were finally scattered about the entrance hall and the front door had fallen shut behind the removers, Fernando took a deep breath. This was his new home. A new start. Far away from the hovering presence of his mother and the disapproving scowls of his father. For the first time, he would live on his own, without his parents, without room mates. A strangely sad and wistful mood came over him and he decided to explore the house to distract himself.

 

It was decidedly smaller than the family estate his parents were occupying, but more importantly: there was no workshop. With a frown, Fernando dug around his pockets for the bunch of keys the solicitor had given him and headed down the patio in the back towards the summerhouse. He'd only crossed the lawn half-way when a sudden weird feeling made him freeze. It actually felt like he was being watched. Slowly and cautiously, he turned and eyed the windows of his uncle's house. His house. In the dim light of dusk, he couldn't see if there was anyone hiding behind the glass, but there were no lights and no movements.

 

With a shrug, he turned back and walked the rest of the way to the summerhouse. Unlocking the door and pushing it open, he hesitated for a second, the tiny hair on his neck rising. With an annoyed sigh, he reached over and flicked the switch, and his mouth fell open when the lights indeed revealed the workshop, with high shelves covering the walls, holding tools and colours of all kinds. A half-finished painting was sitting on an easel in the middle of the large room, covered with a thin white cloth, and once again, Fernando was sharply reminded of the fact that his uncle had only been gone from his home for a short amount of time, and unexpectedly too. There would be time to make it his. He quickly retreated, feeling like he'd been disturbing the peace of a sanctuary.

 

 

— † —

 

 

A can of tomato soup and half a movie later found Fernando passed out on the couch, the remote control slipping from his fingers and landing on the floor with a soft thud. Little did he know there was someone else with him, a man and a woman. They were hovering over him to get a good look at his face, all the while whispering to each other.

 

“He looks nothing like his parents. And his soul feels different, too. Completely opposite.”

 

“Poor kid. It was about time he got out of there.”

 

“So... when are we going to introduce us?”

 

“I don't know. I think it's best if we-”

 

The man abruptly trailed off as Fernando's eyes suddenly snapped open. It took a second or two for him to comprehend that there were strangers in his house, but when he did, he gave a shout, shooting up from the couch and jumping as far away from the intruders as possible.

 

“Who the hell are you?!”

 

The woman raised her hands in a placating gesture. “Fernando...”

 

That caught Fernando's attention who'd been busy calculating the fastest escape route. “You know my name...?”

 

“Yes.” She gave him a smile and he immediately felt calmer. Weird. “Please don't be afraid. We don't want to harm you. We are friends of your uncle. Or rather, we were, until he passed away. And... well, this is our home too.”

 

Fernando's mind was reeling, though he didn't show it. “But the solicitor would've mentioned it if someone else was living here.”

 

“That's because we aren't alive.”

 

“ _Fernando? Fernando, darling!”_

 

Fernando snapped out of his memories and found Sara looking at him with an amused expression. “Yes? Sorry, I... zoned out.”

 

She smiled brightly. “It's fine. I just wanted to know if you'd like orange juice with your breakfast. I made it this morning.”

 

“Yeah, sure. Thank you.”

 

There was a snort at the other end of the table and Fernando looked over at Iker who must've appeared sometime during his daydreams. Iker replied with an amused smirk, the sharp tips of his fangs peeking out as his dark eyes kept him pinned. It still gave Fernando the chills and he couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever get used to living with a demon. A demon who was married to an angel, obviously. He watched Sara walk around the table to bring him his glass of juice, and she stopped by Iker to press a kiss to his forehead. The smile he gave her in return was genuine and completely at ease, and Fernando smiled to himself. They seemed to fit, so who was he to judge.

 

The last two weeks had been hard. At first, he had been convinced that the illness his uncle had fallen prey to had gotten him as well. In his view of the world, there was no room for either demons or angels, they simply didn't exist. But even he couldn't deny that the strange vibes they were giving off were undeniably inhuman. Iker and Sara had told him the major part of their powers was subdued as a punishment for running from heaven and hell, respectively. Fernando had no idea what that meant, and he figured if they didn't want to tell him, he wouldn't ask. However, he had an inkling it also had something to do with their choice of partner, but he kept his mouth shut.

 

Also, the interracial pair was nice. Well, Sara was very nice while her husband had something about him that made Fernando uneasy in his presence. That was probably down to him being a demon, but he wouldn't take any chances with Iker. The scowl he was capable of – and that only melted when he looked at Sara – promised great pain to anyone who crossed him (or her, for that matter), and Fernando wasn't planning on testing his limits.

 

“Well...” He shook his head when the two of them didn't react, completely lost in their own world of looking at each other and just generally being in love. It was a scary world to Fernando. “I'm off to work.”

 

“Oh!” Sara jumped off Iker's lap, and the demon shot him a dark glare that had him duck his head. “Don't forget the pot of coffee I prepared for you!”

 

He quickly took it, the heat in his cheeks rising against his will. “Thanks, Sara.”

 

If he were straight, he knew he'd make a fool of himself whenever she all but looked at him, but her overwhelming aura of kindness and beauty still left him spluttering and looking over his shoulder in case Iker was standing behind him with a knife in hand. Not that the demon would actually need a weapon to finish him off, but his human mind helpfully supplied him with an image befitting the secular worldview he was used to. It certainly didn't make him feel better, though, and he couldn't help but wonder if rejecting his uncle's inheritance would've been the wiser choice.

 

 

— † —

 

 

“Hey, Fernando! Am I interrupting anything?”

 

Fernando quickly straightened the wood frame he'd just built for his new canvas, all the while trying to cover up the fact that he'd let it fall on his foot in his surprise. “Cesc!” He took a deep breath. “I appreciate you coming over, but could you please knock next time?”

 

He'd met the little demon before, and he found he rather liked his funny and bubbly personality that was so unlike Iker. He had the same dark and otherworldly aura about him, of course, but where it made Fernando feel uneasy in Iker's presence, Cesc easily made up for it with his kind and curious character. Still, he was a demon through and through, and sometimes, he'd entertain Fernando with wild tales about his journeys through heaven and hell.

 

And Fernando was no fool. He knew that was exactly why Cesc kept coming over once or twice a week – to keep Iker up to date with what was happening in the world beyond the horizon. He had no idea what the two demons were talking about in particular, but he was certain it wasn't strictly about two friends keeping in touch. Ever since he'd walked into this house and his world had broadened to thrice its size, he'd been wondering how everything was kept in balance. There had to be some supernatural creatures out there that weren't too fond of humans (or fellow demons/angels that were), and Fernando couldn't shake the feeling that Cesc was messenger and look-out all rolled into one.

 

“...Fernando?”

 

“Oh, sorry! What did you say?”

 

Cesc grinned and hopped up onto the workbench. “I said 'sure' and then I asked what you were doing.”

 

Fernando pointed to the linen spread across the floor. “I'm building a canvas.”

 

“Ooh, can I watch? I've never seen it done before!”

 

Shaking his head at the demon's enthusiasm, Fernando couldn't help but grin. “You can, but only if you'll help me.”

 

They worked quietly for a while, the silence only broken every now and then by orders from Fernando, but there was a thought that kept bugging him until he couldn't take it anymore. “Cesc?”

 

“Yeah?” The demon looked up from stirring the white ground colour. “Something on your mind? Want me to go kick Iker's ass or something?”

 

That startled a laugh out of Fernando. “No, thanks.”

 

“I totally would!”

 

“I know. No, I just... I wanted to ask a question.”

 

Cesc nodded and looked back down at his task. “Shoot.”

 

“You said you've never seen anyone make a canvas. So I was wondering... you didn't know my uncle?”

 

Cesc once again stopped stirring and when he looked up at Fernando, his face was unusually serious. “Why do you ask?”

 

Fernando squirmed for a few seconds under his scrutiny, but then he finally gathered his guts. “I'd like to know what kind of man he was. And I don't want to ask Sara and Iker, because...”

 

“They're still mourning him.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Cesc took a deep breath, and Fernando found himself distracted for a second as he wondered if the demon even needed the oxygen, but his sad voice quickly drew his attention back. “No, I knew him. I just wasn't allowed in the workshop. He said I'd only make a mess.” Cesc smiled faintly at the memories. “He was... very nice and sweet, and curious, always wanting to know more about the world we live in. I don't know how he could take things so easily. You know, he never said a bad word about anyone, be they angels or demons, or that weird family of his.” His mouth abruptly snapped shut, but Fernando quickly motioned for him to go on. “He was so excited about us that he wanted everyone to meet, so he told his family about us. It's no secret how that went.” He paused and then turned back to stirring the colour. “It broke his heart, you know.”

 

Fernando swallowed hard and returned to his own task of sorting out the brushes they should use for grounding, his mind a chaos of thoughts and memories. They didn't speak again and in the end, the canvas was finished way sooner than usual, but Fernando guessed it was probably down to Cesc cheating with some weird demon power. He didn't mind, though, he was tired from working on his exhibition day in and day out – and he had to admit that adjusting his life to a whole new basic truth was exhausting business. He'd come to realize for himself, and especially after hearing Cesc talk about him so fondly, that his uncle hadn't been mad after all. When the postman rang the bell, he could see Iker just fine, even though he made sure to deliver the mail as quickly as possible. And Sara went grocery shopping like anybody else, and if that wasn't a funny thought...

 

“What are you grinning about? Wondering what the hell you've gotten yourself into?”

 

Fernando threw a suspicious glance at the little demon. “Can you read minds?”

 

Cesc laughed loudly. “Wish I could. Besides, I don't have to. It's like there's a neon sign on your forehead.”

 

No need to deny it then. “Well, yeah, you're right. I do wonder. Do many people know about you?”

 

“Nope. It's easier this way. Besides, every direct contact is frowned upon.”

 

Aha, Fernando thought. “By whom? God and the Devil?” He paused for a moment when another thought hit him. “Wait, what about my uncle? And me?”

 

“You mean why nobody is moaning about that particular contact?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Well... technically, the lovebirds are half human now, if you wanna be picky about that.” Cesc shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Also, there has to be _some_ kind of advantage to being the son of the boss, if marrying an angel is already enough to land you in hot water.” For a long moment, Fernando could only stare, and Cesc's half-smirk slowly vanished. “What? You didn't know?”

 

“No, I... are you kidding me? Because if you are-” The demon quickly shook his head. Holy shit. Fernando let go of the brushes and started pacing with his hands on his hips. “Iker's the son of the _Devil?!”_

 

For a second or two, Cesc looked torn between confirming and denying, but then he nodded hesitantly. “Yes...?”

 

Fernando stopped and pulled his hands through his hair. “Well, I guess that explains a lot.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

“You could've told me, you know.”

 

Iker looked up from the page he was reading and raised an eyebrow. “The little menace couldn't keep his mouth shut then.” With an annoyed sigh, he closed the book and sat up in the armchair. “We thought it would be better to... hold back with that particular piece of information.”

 

Fernando sank down onto the couch and rubbed at his tired eyes. He decided not to dwell on the fact that Iker immediately knew what piece of information he meant. “What? You thought it would be easier to take once I was settled in?”

 

“Yeah.” A pause. “Isn't it?”

 

God help me. He almost snorted at the thought. “No, not exactly. Is there anything else I need to know? Like vengeful demons trying to invade this house because of our racial compilation?”

 

Iker rolled his eyes. “Come on, Fernando-”

 

“I'd feel better if you just said no.”

 

“No.” The demon raised his hands as if to say 'there, happy?'. “This whole thing will blow over sooner or later. I give it a few centuries, and then he'll come around. You know how it goes. Don't you have problems with your old man, too?”

 

Fernando stared at him. He couldn't believe he was discussing daddy issues with the goddamn _son of the Devil_. “You know, sometimes I wish I was mad instead.”

 

Iker only laughed.

 

 

— † —

 

 

Thank you very much for reading! I hope you're interested in the rest...? ;)


	2. Chapter 2

— † —

 

 

The colours were dark, that much he could see. And they clearly covered only half of the canvas. But what exactly his uncle had been painting before his death, he couldn't make out. He'd definitely been working on it right until the end – the colours and brushes he'd used had still been lying on the workbench, as if he might come back to it any time soon. After staring at them for a few minutes, Fernando had finally plucked up the courage to move them aside, but he'd felt bad about it despite the fact that no one but him would use the workshop from now on. 

 

So far, he hadn't had it in him to move the easel itself out of the way. Their shared profession was the only connection he had to his uncle, and clearing out his last work felt suspiciously like cutting that bond. That didn't mean he wasn't dying to see what was beneath the cloth, though, so he finally took a deep breath and reached out to pull off the fabric. 

 

“Don't touch it.”

 

With a sharp yelp of surprise (he still wasn't used to people with supernatural powers that appeared and disappeared at will), Fernando spun around and came face to face with a guy that looked decidedly harmless at first glance, with his simple jeans, black shirt and boots. His brown hair was long and straight and flowed freely down his shoulders, but – and here, Fernando couldn't stop staring – there was also a scar running down the left side of his face from above his brow to his jaw. It looked very painful and told Fernando, combined with the frown on the guy's face and his very dark glare, that he wasn't to be messed with. He couldn't help but wonder if Iker would hear his call for help with his inhuman ears, and if he'd even come to his rescue. 

 

“Who are you?” 

 

The guy met his wide-eyed stare with a raised eyebrow, but didn't answer. He just kept staring pointedly at him with stormy and serious eyes, and Fernando unconsciously took a step back from the easel with his hands raised. “I won't touch it, okay? Just...” What if he wasn't even talking to a human being? (He couldn't believe he was thinking this.) “Are you friends with Sara and Iker?”

 

The guy shrugged as if to shake off a bug, and seriously, how _rude_ was that? Not to mention he'd invaded Fernando's property _uninvited_. “None of your business.”

 

And then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone. Just there one second and gone the next, without a sound or a shift in the air or black smoke or... something. Just gone. 

 

Fernando sighed. “Great.” This was just getting better and better. 

 

He looked back at his uncle's canvas and then decided to call it a night. He wasn't in the mood for any more surprises. One supernatural creature per day, popping into his workshop and giving him a heart attack in the process, was quite enough in his book. When he turned off the lights and closed the door behind him, the painting was still covered.

 

 

— † —

 

 

“So... someone appeared in my workshop today.”

 

Sara and Iker abruptly stopped talking and looked at him across the kitchen table, then back at each other, and Fernando was surprised – and a bit worried – to see a concerned frown on Sara's beautiful face. “Darling, why didn't you call us? Did they threaten you? What did they want?”

 

Fernando decided not to dwell too long on the fact that someone threatening him was her first thought. It seemed like Iker hadn't been completely honest about the demonic revenge part. “I have no idea, he didn't say. Just appeared out of nowhere and then disappeared again. Tall, long hair, scar on his face. Kind of grumpy and rude.” He raised an eyebrow when Iker's unshakeable frown suddenly smoothed out in recognition, only to be replaced by a smirk that was no less unsettling. “You know him?”

 

“Ha, look who returned!” Despite his mocking tone, Iker traded a relieved look with Sara, and then turned back to him, his dark eyes brimming with curiosity. “You could see him?”

 

Again, Fernando could only wonder about the first question of choice. He had a feeling they were having two separate conversations here. “Yes...? Why not?”

 

Iker just grinned and waved him off. “Never mind.”

 

Sara squeezed her husband's hand in warning. “Fernando, there are many things we can't tell you because it's not our place, but be assured that you mustn't be afraid of him. He might seem impolite and... even intimidating, but he'd never hurt a soul. He and your uncle... they were very close and his death hit him hard.”

 

Fernando quickly raised his hands to stop her. “Wait! Are you saying he's been living here, too?”

 

“Wrong. I _am_ living here.”

 

“Jesus Christ!” Fernando started violently, balling his hands into fists and then opening them again to stem the adrenaline rush that came with the shock of Scarface suddenly appearing in the chair at the head of the table. “Would you just stop that?!”

 

“What? It's not my fault you humans are so easily scared!”

 

Iker clicked his tongue. “So quick to deny your heritage, Sergio!”

 

Fernando took a moment to gather his courage as the two of them engaged in a glaring match before he hesitantly cleared his throat. “You're not a demon then?”

 

The guy – Sergio – sneered at that, but there was no real malice behind it. “Fuck, no!”

 

“Pff, as if.” Iker chuckled and then laughed when Sergio flipped him off. “Maybe he _wishes_ he was. He's a ghost, that's what he is.”

 

As Fernando's mouth fell open, Sara gave Iker a slap on the wrist he probably didn't even feel. “Iker! I said it wasn't our place!”

 

The demon just shrugged. “He'd never tell the poor kid anything. I don't want to be the one to explain to Javier that we drove away his nephew just because we couldn't behave!”

 

It was the first time anyone had said his uncle's name, and it distracted Fernando from the fact that, obviously, Iker didn't include himself in the group that couldn't behave. He wasn't the only one, though, as the mood in the room suddenly turned icy cold. Sergio stood, slowly, his face a mask of angry pain, and sent them all a pointed glare.

 

“I'm off to my room. _If_ it's still my room.” He turned to Fernando who had to fight hard against the urge to duck his head. “It was _nice_ meeting you, Fernando.”

 

In the following uneasy silence, Iker's snort sounded unnaturally loud. “Well, Fernando, now that you've met the last member of our household: welcome to this madhouse!”

 

There was a long-suffering sigh from Sara, but before she could open her mouth to reprimand her husband, Fernando suddenly blurted out the question that had been blaring in his mind for the last few seconds. “You can talk to my uncle?” He hated how young and hopeful his voice sounded, but he didn't avoid his gaze as Sara's face filled with sympathy.

 

“No, darling. I'm really sorry, but we cannot.” She stood and walked around the table before kneeling next to his chair and taking his hands into hers. “We lost that ability when we were relieved of so many of our powers.”

 

Fernando looked over to Iker who nodded to confirm her words, and his unusually solemn and sad expression suddenly made tears rise in his eyes. He bit his lip, trying to keep a lid on it, but when Sara let go of his hands and reached out to embrace him instead, he couldn't help but bury his head in her long hair to stifle a sob. And neither the angel nor the demon said anything as the emotional melee of the last few weeks finally caught up with him and he fought hard not to cry for the uncle he'd never met and the injustice of wasted chances.

 

“It's okay,” Sara whispered into his ear when he finally relaxed in her arms, ready to let go. “Your parents kept him from meeting you. It wasn't your fault.”

 

Fernando pulled back and rubbed the sleeve of his sweater across his tired eyes. “I know. It's just... I wonder why I never tried to get to know him myself.” He shook his head and stared at a dark spot on the tabletop, blinking rapidly when it blurred yet again. “Everything in this house feels so familiar, and it seems like... God, I don't know, like I know him or something. And now I regret not... coming here earlier.”

 

“Fernando, you mustn't dwell on those thoughts. They will only bring you pain. You should know that your uncle was very proud of you, even if he couldn't tell you himself, and he wouldn't want you to mourn for him.”

 

He nodded reluctantly and pressed his palms to his eyes. He didn't see the surprisingly gentle look Iker gave Sergio who was standing in the doorway, with his arms wrapped around his stomach as if trying to hold himself together. And neither did he see the tears that were burning in the ghost's eyes. “Okay. I'm going to bed.” Fernando stood and gave Sara a wobbly smile. “Thank you.”

 

When he turned to the door, Sergio was gone. 

 

 

— † —

 

 

“Don't you guys ever sleep?”

 

If Iker and Sara had noticed that he looked like shit – and it had taken Fernando only one glance in the mirror to reach that conclusion – they were kind enough not to mention it. Iker even made an obvious effort to pretend that Fernando's emotional drop out last night hadn't happened. “Actually, we do, but not in the way you mean.” He gave him an exaggerated leer. “Or care to hear.”

 

Fernando snorted into his coffee cup and decided not to dignify that comment with a response. He appreciated the effort, but he didn't feel like dealing with a handful of cocky demon first thing in the morning – and even more so after a night where sleep had eluded him until dawn. Only then did he drift off into a restless sleep where he repeatedly saw his uncle at the various ages that the pictures strewn about the house were showing. Each time he tried to reach him, calling and waving, his uncle turned and walked away. And Fernando was never fast enough to stop him. 

 

It was strange how upset he felt about the death of someone he had never met – even if that someone had given him a house, a fortune and a dysfunctional, but somehow working family on top of that. Still, he couldn't deny he felt a connection to the man who'd shared his love for art and his knowledge of things most people could only dream of. And if Cesc was to believe, then he had more in common with his uncle's personality than his own parents. 

 

His parents... He barely suppressed a sigh and rubbed at his tired eyes. He'd only called them once, on the second day he'd spent at the house, just to be forwarded to the voice mail of his mother's phone. He'd left a message that said he was okay, the house was in good shape and his exhibition was coming along nicely. Since then, he hadn't returned their calls, not a single one, and that was fine by him. The less contact, the better. 

 

It had never occurred to him that he might be content with the small family he'd stumbled upon in his new home – not until Sergio's return the night before. The arrival of the ghost had upset the new balance in the life he'd settled into without even realizing it, and Fernando wasn't sure if he was entirely thrilled about the prospect of yet another supernatural housemate – and one that despised him no less (for being human or for being Fernando, he didn't know). He'd come to accept Iker as the presumptuous big brother he'd never had, with Sara in the role of the girlfriend who thought the little brother was cute and harmless. But with Sergio... He wasn't sure he could ever gain the ghost's approval. And he didn't know if he even wanted to.

 

“Morning, guys.”

 

Sergio didn't even look at him as he sat down at the kitchen table and stole a few pages of Iker's newspaper, and Fernando suddenly decided his already frayed nerves couldn't deal with the hostile vibes the ghost was giving off in his general direction. “I think I'll skip breakfast.” He abruptly stood and quickly continued before Sara could get even one concerned word in. “Thanks for cooking, Sara. I'll have it later for lunch.”

 

This time, Iker's look at Sergio was just short of murderous.

 

 

— † —

 

 

The painting was gone. It wasn't like he hadn't expected it, if he was honest with himself deep down, but that it would actually happen... Fernando fought down the ridiculous urge to turn the whole workshop upside down to find it – it would be no use, he was sure of it. Someone had definitely taken it, and as he stared at the blank easel, there was no doubt in his mind who'd done it. Even the cloth was gone. For fuck's sake. 

 

“For fuck's sake!” Fernando only rarely used swear words, and he immediately remembered why: they just didn't help one bit. He still couldn't help adding a few more. “Fucking shit! What the hell have I done to him?!”

 

“Someone in need of an ass-kicking again? Who is it this time?”

 

Fernando whirled around to find Cesc in the open door, with his hand raised to knock on the frame and a funny expression on his face that was stuck half-way between amused and apologetic. “No one.”

 

Even the sight of his favourite demon couldn't cheer him up, and if that wasn't just another point on Fernando's anti-ghost-list. He hesitated for just a second, and then he did something he hadn't done since he'd been four years old and his parents had confiscated his first painting kit: he threw a temper tantrum. “No, actually, there is someone you could give hell for me! And in your case, that's even literal!” Fernando threw up his hands and started pacing. “I didn't even have the chance to do something to him – not that I'd ever dream of it – and he's already pissed off at me! He was close to my uncle – okay, I get that. But the fact that I inherited the house doesn't mean I had anything to do with his death! Or whatever's going on in his undead head that makes him treat me like that.”

 

Cesc was quiet for a moment and then he shut the door behind him. “I guess it's about my favourite Rumpelstiltskin, also known as Sergio?”

 

Fernando couldn't help but grin despite himself – that image just fit Sergio too well. “Yeah.” He pulled a hand through his hair, already embarrassed about his outburst. “Sorry, Cesc. He just gets under my skin with his way of... making me feel like I'm personally responsible for everything bad that ever happened to him or something. I don't know.”

 

“It's okay.” Cesc sauntered over and pulled himself up onto his favourite perch on the workbench. “It's not the first hissy fit I've seen in my by your standards pretty long life. About Sergio... he'll come around once he got to know you better and then he'll see how wonderful you are.”

 

Fernando ducked his head to hide his smile and dropped down into a tailor seat on the floor. “Such a flatterer.”

 

“You know you like it!”

 

“True.” He was silent for a moment, and the smile slowly faded as he thought about the problem at hand. “But I don't think so. He doesn't care one bit about getting to know me.”

 

Cesc hummed. “I guess he's still mourning. You know that's why he was gone, right?”

 

Fernando quickly looked up at the demon. “No, I didn't know. He's been gone all this time since my uncle's death?”

 

“Yeah. Tried to find someone who could forge a connection to the dead.”

 

“Forge a connection? You mean talk to deceased people?” Cesc nodded. “So there aren't many who can do it? What about you?”

 

Cesc snorted, but there was no humour in it. “Sorry, not my pay grade. That shit is for like... Sector 7, or people like Phil Coulson. Higher-ups.”

 

Fernando smiled faintly. _A connection to the dead..._ “So... Sergio tried to find a way to talk to my uncle?”

 

“Yeah. That's why there are some tensions between him and Iker, too. He didn't think he should do it, that it would only hurt him more, but Sergio wouldn't listen.”

 

Fernando was silent for a long moment. “I guess he wasn't successful.” It all made sense now. “And then he returns home and finds out the spoilt nephew who never cared about his heartbroken uncle has settled into the house. Great. I guess every long-lasting friendship starts that way, right?”

 

Cesc shifted on the workbench, clearly uncomfortable and unsure how to respond. “I still think he'll come to his senses. I swear, he wasn't like that before.”

 

“That's what Sara says, too.”

 

“Better believe her then. She never lies.”

 

Any other day, Fernando would've teased the demon for the admiration that coloured his voice, but he found he was too exhausted to care. He'd had unpleasant flatmates before, of course. The kind that always brought home bawling friends or stole all the food from the fridge and then accused him of neglecting household chores. But none of them had been supernatural beings, able to... well, he didn't know what ghosts were capable of, but it couldn't be healthy for his ordinary human heart. That train of thought brought back all the failed attempts to get along with Sergio and he frowned in annoyance. 

 

“Hey, you okay?”

 

“Yeah.” Fernando shook his head to clear his mind and tried to think of something that would distract him from his ghost issues. “Sara told me she'd been able to talk to the dead before. Is she a higher-up then? Like Iker, but on the other side?”

 

“Yeah, sure. That's how the lovebirds met.”

 

“Don't tell me there's an interracial relations committee!”

 

Cesc grinned and shrugged. “Well, yes. But it's like a FIFA meeting. They gather, they insult and glare at each other, and then they go back home and no one is all the wiser.”

 

“Seriously?” Fernando had to suppress a hiccup when laughter bubbled up his throat. “What are they discussing?”

 

“Adjustments to the treaty.” Cesc waved a hand when Fernando raised a curious eyebrow. “Yeah, long story. This is the short version: it's a rulebook to prevent anyone from taking over your kinda defenceless world. God and the Devil aren't stupid. They know a tip of the balance would have serious consequences.”

 

“A tip of the balance... you mean the Devil isn't constantly working against God?”

 

Cesc sighed and leant back on his elbows. “I see Iker told you nothing about how this world works. First of all, you gotta bid farewell to all those Christian myths. That's bullshit. Neither is the Devil a fallen angel nor is God the creator of this world. The two of them only rule a third of it, respectively, and the last one is ruled by your species. Besides, supernatural politics are no different from human politics: conferences, committees, decrees... You wouldn't believe how unbearably bureaucratic hell is!”

 

Fernando couldn't hold back a snort. “Are you kidding me?”

 

“Nooo!” Cesc splayed a hand over his heart. “It's true! Maybe not as bad as the European Union, but do we really need an import ban on Tancor Powder? I mean, okay, it's kinda lethal and messy, but seriously...”

 

As he listened to Cesc rant about the unfair embargo on poisonous ingredients, his mind once again wandered off towards Sergio and his hostile barbs. He really hoped the little demon was right and the ghost would somehow find a way back to his supposedly charming self – and soon. Otherwise, this would surely end badly.

 

 

— † —

 

 

So... the merry household is complete. ;)  Welcome aboard, and thank you very much for reading! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone was wondering... Fernando's painting style is based on the works of the German painter Jonas Burgert. You should google him if you're interested in art, his paintings are amazing beyond belief! :)


	3. Chapter 3

— † —

 

 

He knew he shouldn't have jinxed it, Fernando thought when he opened the front door. He shouldn't have assumed not getting along with Sergio was the worst that could happen. Well, now he stood corrected. “Woah...”

 

“This is how you greet your mother after one and a half months apart?”

 

There it was already, that tone in her voice that set his teeth on edge and made his usually even temper rise in record time. A look at his father's scowling face proved to be no better. Awesome. The day just kept getting better and better. 

 

“Well, why don't you come in then? Since you're already here...”

 

“Thank you, darling.” 

 

And back to doting mother in a flash, unpredictable as always. Fernando could already feel a headache coming on. When she passed him, she bent over as if to give him a kiss, but he pretended he didn't notice and quickly stepped aside to let them pass and close the door behind them. 

 

He pointed to the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink? I guess you still know the way.” _Even if you haven't been here for twenty-five years._

 

“Fernando? Who was it?” Sara appeared in the doorway before his parents could react to his icy remark, and immediately pulled a hand up to cover her mouth. “Oh. H-hello.”

 

His mother immediately turned to him, obviously delighted. Oh God, did she think- “Oh, you already have a visitor!” And then she _winked_ at him before offering her hand to Sara, who automatically took it with a baffled expression. “I'm Flori, Fernando's mother, and this is my husband José.”

 

Fernando watched the scene unfold with a sick feeling in his stomach that felt like he'd swallowed a stone, and then, all of a sudden, he knew why. His mother simply didn't know who she was talking to! She didn't know Sara was one of the supernatural creatures his uncle had been talking about all those years ago, fatefully assuming that his sister simply _must_ believe him. With a wince, he turned to Sara, silently begging her to play along. To an outsider, she looked perfectly composed, but to Fernando's trained eye, she had never seemed more distressed. Holding his breath, he sent her pleading thought after pleading thought, hoping she could somehow _feel_ it. 

 

“I'm Sara,” she finally said, slowly, as if it cost her a lot of strength to get the words out. “Why don't you come in and I'll make coffee?”

 

His parents went ahead to the kitchen, and Fernando found himself momentarily distracted by an overwhelming surge of disdain. If you knew your son would rather become a monk than have a girlfriend, you'd probably disown him, he thought bitterly. Not that he cared, now, with his uncle's fortune at his disposal. But there were things that money couldn't buy – and there were also facts you couldn't change with a threat of withholding it. 

 

He caught Sara's horrified eyes through the doorway and gave her the most grateful smile he could muster. He was afraid it was more a grimace than a smile, though, so he added a mouthed 'Thank you' for good measure. She gave a pained smile of her own before turning back to his mother who was gushing about her clothes and her hair - “and you simply must tell me where you got those earrings. They're _beyond_ cute!”

 

Fernando resisted the strong urge to gag and finally forced himself to sit down at the kitchen table. After a few minutes of shifting uneasily in his chair, however, he began to relax. His parents were striking up a completely harmless conversation, revolving around Sara's job, her interests and her parents' professions. The kind you hold when you're meeting the supposed girlfriend of your son for the first time (again, the urge to gag – Sara was an angel, quite literally, but hell _no_ ). 

 

Besides, Sara stood her ground surprisingly well. As soon as she'd overcome her initial shock, she replied smoothly and unflinchingly to any question his parents asked and Fernando wanted to kiss her. Not really, but in a figurative sense. He'd have to work hard to make it up to her once this nightmare was over. God, he couldn't _wait!_

 

And when, as if on cue, the door slammed shut at that exact moment, all Fernando could think was: of course he had to go and _jinx it again!_ “Sara, I'm back!”

 

Before anyone could react, Iker appeared in the doorway, and Fernando immediately knew that shit was about to hit the fan. He could see the storm brewing above Iker's dark brow, and he was immediately hit with a wave of unease. His parents must have felt it too, and when Iker opened his mouth, he screwed his eyes shut, because he couldn't bear to watch the disaster happen.

 

“I'm sorry, I didn't know we had guests.” Fernando's eyes shot back open and he barely refrained from letting his jaw drop. He'd never heard Iker talk so friendly and _sweetly_ too, and he couldn't help but send a quick thanks to God and the Devil respectively for making this go smoothly. “I'm Iker, Sara's husband.”

 

Or not. Flori sent her own husband a bewildered look and then turned to Fernando. “But... honey, why didn't you-” She abruptly trailed off, and the expression on her face turned from surprise to anger so quickly Fernando felt his stomach drop yet again. “Wait, are you those supposedly 'supernatural creatures'-” She made quotation marks with her hands. “-my brother has been talking about when he went mad?! Did you make him believe it?”

 

José held up a hand, probably in order to defuse the situation, but his face betrayed his irritation and his eyes held the glint of compensation payments. Fernando suddenly felt sick. “Flori, calm down. But I'd like to hear you answer her questions.” He stood and braced himself against the table, staring Sara and Iker down like the lawyer he was. “Did you plant this insane idea in his head that there were things like angels and demons out there and that you belonged to these... categories?”

 

Iker frowned and drew himself up to his full height, and Fernando just _knew_ he was ready to go all Devil's son on his father. He had to act quickly before this situation got further out of hand. “No, wait! No,” he repeated softly when all eyes in the room suddenly turned to him. Think think _think_. “I wanted to save the money Javier left me, and since the house is so big and lonely, I thought I could just... rent some of the rooms out to them.” He forced himself to meet the suspicious glances of his parents head-on. “They have nothing to do with what happened... back then. Also, they're a lovely couple and I don't feel so alone around here.”

 

His mother somehow managed to look embarrassed and put out at the same time. “But why didn't you just tell us? Why pretend you're...”

 

Sara smiled innocently. “We're what?”

 

That actually made Flori blush, and Fernando almost laughed out loud in his relief. “Never mind, I'm sorry. I think-” She looked over at her husband who quickly nodded.

 

“We should probably head back. We have two hours of driving ahead of us, after all.” He extended his hand to Sara and then to Iker who obviously made an effort to keep his forehead smooth. “I'm sorry about our outburst. It's a sad story in our family and I'm sorry you got caught up in it. It was nice meeting you.”

 

Fernando stood to accompany them to the door when he caught movement in the hallway. _Oh God._ He'd totally forgotten about the ghost! “Sergio,” he breathed. 

 

Iker's eyes snapped to him and then to the hallway, his brow creasing, but he somehow managed to give Fernando's parents a sweet smile. “That's just our dog. If you'll excuse me.” 

 

He dashed off into the hall, and there were the distinct sounds of wrestling before silence fell – until every piece of cutlery and dinnerware started rattling in the cupboards. Fernando turned to stare at the glass cabinet where the wine glasses stood shaking and banging against each other, but before he could even think about what on Earth that was supposed to mean, it stopped again.

 

Sara cleared her throat in the terrified silence that followed. “It's the subway.”

 

Fernando could've kissed her again right then, Iker be damned. He would never be able to make this up to her. “Yeah, it may sound like a poltergeist is living here-” Inwardly, he cringed. Who knew, maybe that was even the truth? “-but you get used to it pretty quickly.”

 

“Okay.” His mother looked pale and spooked, and on every other day, Fernando would've found it hilarious. “Well, we must be going. Take care, honey.” She gave him an awkward hug. “Call if you need anything. It was nice meeting you, Sara.”

 

“Likewise.”

 

José nodded at her and then ushered his wife to the front door. When it finally, _finally_ clicked shut behind them, Fernando all but collapsed onto his chair, resting his head against the pleasantly cool tabletop. “Holy shit!”

 

Sara quickly followed suit and sighed. “Tell me about it.”

 

“I'm so sorry,” he muttered into the wood. “I didn't know they'd be coming, I swear.”

 

“I know.” A pause. “Fernando?” He just hummed, but didn't look up, still too freaked out from the close call. “Thank you for doing this for us. I can't imagine how it must've felt to lie to your parents.”

 

“It's fine. Been doing it all my life.”

 

“Darling, I mean it. After everything that happened with your uncle...”

 

Fernando could suddenly feel that headache coming back. He sighed. “I don't care that much about them, but I care about you, so it was a natural thing to do.”

 

“No, it wasn't.”

 

Fernando whipped his head up from the table and quickly stood from his chair as the new voice joined their conversation. Sergio stood in the doorway, looking a bit worse for wear, but most of all, he was almost glowing with anger. Iker was right behind him, ready to intervene again should the need arise. “You must be insane! Iker told me what kind of stunt you pulled. And those cretins actually bought that shit?!”

 

Fernando immediately felt his own temper flare. That bloody ghost just knew what buttons to push! “Hey! I just wanted to protect you! And it worked, too! So you're welcome, you goddamn-”

 

“Thank you.”

 

He gaped at Sergio whose face held nothing but sincere gratitude, and he almost forgot how to breathe in his shock. “What?”

 

“I said thank you. Even with your inferior human hearing, you must've gotten that clearly.”

 

For a long moment, no one said anything. Sara and Iker kept looking back and forth between the two of them, trying to determine if they'd have to break up a fight or not. And then Fernando snorted. “Are you for real?”

 

Sergio laughed. It was beautiful and mesmerizing, and for the first time, Fernando got a glimpse of what Cesc and Sara had been trying to make him see. “You tell me.” He quickly sobered up again. “No, seriously, though. Thank you.”

 

Fernando raised his hands to rub at his temples. “I need something to drink after this almost-disaster. And your mood swings make my head spin.”

 

“What about my good looks?”

 

“You wish.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

“But we agreed on ten!”

 

The woman gave him a sweet and entirely false smile. “Well, your exhibition is stirring up more interest than I thought, so we decided it would be great to show more pictures.”

 

Fernando forced himself to take a deep breath. It was beyond him why there had been no course during his studies on how to deal with gallery owners. “The way I paint is very time-consuming. I can deliver no more than the ten we agreed on.”

 

She pursed her lips and shrugged with a bored air. “Let's see what you've got so far then.”

 

He lead her over to his storage to show her what he'd finished so far, and with every 'hmm' and every 'oh' his heart sank further until he found himself wondering if doing business with this gallery had been such a bright idea after all.

 

“Those are rather... gloomy.”

 

God help me... “My professor showed you some of my works when he recommended me to you, didn't he?”

 

She hesitated for a moment. “Yes. But I didn't think your style could get any more...” She struggled for a proper word. “Otherworldly.”

 

Fernando fought hard to swallow the hysterical laughter that bubbled up his throat. “Otherwor-”

 

“Fernando, darling! I was just around the corner, so I thought I'd pay my favourite painter a visit!”

 

Fernando looked up to find Cesc in the doorway, and his mouth fell open in shock. The demon was dressed in a green plaid pair of pants and a black dress shirt – which was bad enough. But the red leather jacket he was wearing was beyond words. His whole appearance screamed gay, as did his body language, and Fernando thought that Armageddon must look exactly like that. He just couldn't decide if he should laugh or cry.

 

But then Cesc opened his mouth to speak, and out came the worst French accent he'd ever heard, and he had to bite his lip not to burst out howling with laughter. “Who is your lady friend? Parlez-vous français?” No reply. “Italiano? Deutsch vielleicht? Ein kleines bisschen? Nein?” Cesc heaved a dramatic sigh when the woman just kept staring at him, completely flabbergasted. “Well, Spanish then. Great, how boring. Galleries obviously aren't what they used to be.” He turned to Fernando. “I came to admire your latest works. You promised me some, my darling, no need to deny it now.”

 

Fortunately for Fernando, the woman found her voice first. “Wait! Those pictures are ours!”

 

Cesc planted his hands on his hips and raised an eyebrow. “Yours? A minute ago, you didn't want them.”

 

“Well, technically-”

 

“Technically, you're a _gallery owner_. Which means you own the gallery and not the pictures on display. Which makes them available to me. And since I and young Fernando here have an excellent agreement – the details of which are none of your business – I am proud to reveal to you that most of these are already spoken for.” He splayed a hand over his chest. “By me, that is. For a 6-digit sum that is also none of your concern.” 

 

The woman's eyes grew comically large. “A 6-digit...” She rounded on Fernando who just shrugged and grinned at her, too busy mentally patting the _bloody brilliant demon_ on the back. “You can't do that!”

 

“Says who?” Fernando gave her his best business face impression. “Just because I'm fresh out of university doesn't mean I don't know how things work out in the real world. But if you'd like to cancel the exhibition, go ahead. I'm sure Monsieur Fabrégez over here would volunteer to take over from you.”

 

“Oh, I'd love to!” Cesc waved his hands about wildly. “I know _just_ the right location for that. It's from a _very_ old friend, you see. He's not that old himself, of course, but you catch my drift, don't you? Anyway-”

 

“Alright!” The woman raised her own hands to squash the demon's enthusiasm. “Alright. I changed my mind. Ten pictures then, with the agreed percentage. But Mr. Artsy over here only gets to choose four. The rest is sold at the opening.”

 

Fernando eyed the hand she offered him and then turned to Cesc. “Do you agree, Monsieur?”

 

Cesc just rolled his eyes and brushed invisible dust off his hideous jacket. “If you insist, darling.” He casually checked his watch and then clapped his hands. “Well, it was a pleasure as always. I'll see you at the vernissage, love.” He gave an exaggerated bow to the gallery owner. “And you, too, Madame.”

 

As he watched him go, Fernando couldn't help but think that only a cape was missing to make the exit even more dramatic. Now he was already indebted to two supernatural creatures. Great. Thank God he'd die first.

 

“Mr. Torres?”

 

He snapped back to reality and finally grabbed her hand that was still hovering in mid-air. “Yes, sure. Deal.”

 

She huffed and quickly withdrew her hand. “I'll call to confirm a date to get the pictures.”

 

She didn't even wait for his answer, but just breezed by him without so much as a good-bye. As his heart filled with relief, he could swear he heard her mutter something under her breath that suspiciously sounded like 'What is it with gays and art?'. She was barely gone for five seconds when Cesc suddenly reappeared right next to Fernando, once again dressed in _normal_ clothes and shaking with uncontrollable laughter.

 

“Oh my God! That was fun!” He bent over to brace himself on his knees. “Nando, you owe me!”

 

Fernando sighed, but he couldn't help a smile. “I know.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

Sergio was cutting the roses framing the stairs to the garden, and Fernando paused to watch. He was pretty sure the ghost had already sensed his presence, and yet he decided to get his head in order before facing his housemate. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but he wasn't entirely sure how his bout of investigative energy would be received. Just because the ghost hadn't gone berserk on him after the incident with his parents, didn't mean they suddenly were best friends. So he hovered in the kitchen, trying to make himself go on, but failing miserably. Besides, watching Sergio work had a strangely soothing effect: the short and precise movements, the loving way he caressed the stems before cutting them off... That was what he was telling himself, anyway. 

 

“Do you like roses?”

 

Fernando took a deep breath, willing the rising blush to fade, and finally pushed the patio door open. “Well... yeah... they're beautiful. Did you grow them?”

 

“Yes, together with your uncle. That's the first thing he ever taught me.” 

 

Looking up at the roses in awe, Fernando pretended he didn't notice the wistful tone of his voice. That was a too private place he didn't want to visit. “They're incredible.”

 

“Thanks.” Sergio smiled and cut off another stem. “You didn't come to chat about roses though, did you?”

 

Fernando shook his head to buy himself some time, but in the end, he simply blurted out the question he'd come to ask – one of the many he had. “So... a poltergeist, huh?”

 

The question came out more awkward than planned and he buried his hands in his pockets in a nervous gesture. Sergio, however, only chuckled – a silky sound Fernando hadn't heard so far. “I don't know if that's the correct term, but probably, yeah.” He gestured to the steps that led into the garden. “I'm pretty sure that's not the only question, so be my guest.”

 

For a moment, Fernando hesitated. To see Sergio so relaxed and laid-back was a new, but not unwelcome sight. The aura of anger and dismissive black humour that seemed to be clinging to him all the time was gone, replaced by a strangely calm and easy-going composure. He briefly wondered if the rose-cutting was responsible for that, but then he remembered he still owed Sergio an answer. There were indeed dozens of questions he wanted to ask, but as Fernando hesitantly eased himself down onto the stairs, he found he was still wary of the ghost, even if the tensions between them seemed all but dissolved. Sergio's infamous mood swings were still too fresh in his mind. And yet, there may never be a better opportunity to learn more about the world he'd been thrust into. There was something else weighing on his mind that had to be cleared first, though.

 

“I'm sorry about my parents. About how they treated my uncle, how they behaved last night. Just... I'm sorry about everything.”

 

The skin around his eyes creased in pain for a moment, but then Sergio was all smiles again, even though it didn't reach his eyes this time. “Don't be. I can see now you're nothing like them. And I'm glad Iker held me back. It would've been a disaster otherwise. I mean, some invisible guy throwing things at them...?” 

 

And there it was, the opening for Fernando's questions. “They wouldn't have seen you?”

 

Sergio shrugged. “Probably not. You and your uncle are the only people that ever did.”

 

Fernando swallowed hard and his voice grew soft. “I can't imagine what that must be like.”

 

“Well...” Sergio dropped the shears into the grass and sat down on the stairs. “Imagine waking up without knowing what happened, who you are, where you are, and everyone you're trying to ask for help doesn't see you.”

 

“Wait. So you don't know how you died?”

 

Sergio shook his head. “No. Obviously, a ghost is void of its human soul, and that's why most just wander around, without memories or thoughts of their own, randomly scaring people with moving shit and stuff.”

 

“But not you.”

 

“No, not me.”

 

“So... my uncle found you?”

 

“Yeah.” A bittersweet smile spread on Sergio's face, clearly sparked by memories that were too close to home, but also too fond to ignore. “He took me in, filled my empty mind again with a new soul, you could say. Never questioned once what I was.”

 

Something else entered his voice right there. Fernando tried hard to determine what it was, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it, so he decided not to dwell on it. There was a much more important question on his mind. “Maybe he mistook you for a... a human at first?”

 

Sergio moved so quickly that Fernando didn't even have time to jump in surprise, but Sergio's hand didn't connect with his upper arm the way he anticipated it. Instead of a tangible touch, all he could feel was a strange and uncomfortable chill where the ghost was touching him and he shied away on instinct. 

 

“Believe me,” Sergio said quietly. “There was no doubt that I wasn't human. Not anymore, that is.”

 

Fernando blinked, still fighting the suffocating feeling that had spread from his arm to his chest even though the ghost had touched him for only a second. “But Iker and Sara-”

 

“Are still supernatural creatures, and for them, it's not uncomfortable at all. The laws are different there. But whoever made them certainly has a sick sense of humour.”

 

Fernando waited for a moment, but it looked like Sergio didn't want to elaborate on that. He fought a short battle, caught between asking more and leaving the ghost be, but then his curiosity won out. “Why do you think you're different?”

 

Sergio shrugged. “I don't know. Legend says ghosts that 'relearn'-” He drew quotation marks into the air. “-serve a greater purpose. But seriously, that's bullshit.”

 

“What about your soul? Where did it go?”

 

“To hell?” Sergio barked out a bitter laugh. “To a newborn? I have no idea.”

 

With a sudden clarity, Fernando understood he was asking questions Sergio had been pondering over for years now, and the pain in his expression showed him that he hadn't been able to find any answers. He breathed a silent sigh. “I'm sorry.”

 

Sergio started as if his words had pulled him out of some deep musings and he shot up from the stairs, bending down to retrieve the shears. “It's okay.”

 

“Sergio-” Fernando trailed off when a faint tremor ran through the wood of the stairs.

 

Taking a deep breath, Sergio quickly held up a hand and the shaking stopped. “It's fine.” 

 

He looked up at the roses, his face unreadable, and Fernando knew the conversation was over. He was just about to get up and retreat into the house when Sergio turned back to him, a small smile pulling at his lips. “Would you like to help me?”

 

Fernando resisted the urge to shake his head at the newest mood swing and accepted the shears Sergio was offering him with a smile of his own. “Yeah. I'd love to.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

Thanks a lot for reading! Next up: things take a turn. But for the better or for the worse? ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean no offence to gallery owners. ;)


	4. Chapter 4

— † —

 

 

“Hey, Nando.”

 

Fernando didn't look up from his canvas. “Cesc. Don't you have a job to do?”

 

“Yes, I do!” His voice was filled with indignation, but Fernando could hear the grin in there. “But it's only a part-time job anyway.”

 

That had Fernando laughing and he finally looked up. “Oh.” He examined Cesc's athletic outfit, consisting of shorts and a... _ew!_ His nose wrinkled in disgust. A Barça shirt. No _way_. “Don't tell me you're gonna go watch _them_ play?”

 

Cesc sent him an indignant glare – this time for real – and crossed his arms defensively. “I'm _not_ discussing club preferences with you, Mr. Candy-stripes! I was going to ask you if you were interested in a round of badminton, but now I'm tempted to ask Sergio instead.”

 

“Well, I gotta finish this painting today, so...” Cesc's glare melted into a pout, but Fernando only shook his head and avoided his gaze. Cesc's puppy dog eyes were a force to be reckoned with, he'd learned the hard way. “Maybe some other time, Cesc. But I can't, not now. Once the exhibition is done, I'll play.”

 

The little demon shrugged, visibly disappointed. “Okay. You promise, though?”

 

Fernando suppressed the grin threatening to spill at his hopeful tone. “Yeah. I promise.”

 

“Okay,” Cesc muttered dejectedly and skulked out the door.

 

With a sigh, Fernando turned back to the painting – which was a tough nut to crack. He'd been working on it for some days now, and it just wouldn't co-operate with him. Something wasn't right, disturbing the plan he saw so clearly whenever he closed his eyes. He didn't know what exactly was wrong, though. The choice of colours, the layout of the canvas, the thickness of the lines…? Ugh, hopeless. He ran a hand down his face, unsure what he should do to change it. He rarely – if ever – grew tired of painting, but this picture was giving him the hardest time of his yet non-existing painting career, and it made him cranky and upset that he couldn't spot the mistake he'd made. There had to be one. He wasn't distracted or anything. Least of all by Sergio. 

 

Loud hollering tore his attention away from the defiant canvas (so much for not-at-all happening distractions...) and he walked over to the window to look out across the lawn. What he saw had him laughing outright, despite the lingering annoyance at being interrupted again.

 

Obviously, Sergio was a much more willing opponent, but Cesc was cheating with his powers, jumping back and forth whenever it was evident he wouldn't reach the birdie on foot. Sergio's face darkened with every incident, obviously determined not to stoop to the same measures – until he had enough: dropping his racket, he moved to tackle the demon with a shout. Cesc answered with a surprised yelp and disappeared before the ghost could reach him. And soon enough, a game of supernatural tag was going on in the garden, and the two chased each other across the lawn, alternating between shrieking in delight (Cesc) and hearty curses (Sergio).

 

With a grin, Fernando returned to his painting. Ever since they had shared the work of cutting the rosebushes around the patio two weeks ago, the relationship between Sergio and himself had taken a very pleasant turn towards something akin to friendship. A friendship that, with each passing day, was taking huge steps towards mutual respect and fondness. Little by little, Fernando discovered the cracks in Sergio's gruff attitude, catching more and more glimpses of the young and easygoing man he used to be. 

 

And Fernando liked what he saw. The awkward tensions between them were gone, making way for an easy understanding – an understanding that was only marred by the fact that they couldn't touch. Sergio was an affectionate person, hugging and touching Iker, Sara and Cesc all the time, and Fernando found himself watching and longing to be included in that circle. Not that he'd ever admit it. His parents had never been the cordial type, always keeping up a certain distance they claimed would do him good in life. It had taken Fernando a while to get used to Sara hugging him and patting his head in passing, or Iker clapping him on the back and catching him in playful headlocks in order to rile him up. 

 

As soon as he'd shed his reservations, though, he came to realize he actually liked it. And he knew, deep down, that not being able to touch Sergio was indeed bothering him. Besides, he'd caught the ghost reaching out to touch him more than once, only to pull his hand back when he realized he could seriously harm Fernando if he made contact. But there was nothing he could do to change it – and neither could Sergio – so Fernando had decided to take what was offered and not wish for something he couldn't have. For their own good. 

 

“It's beautiful.”

 

Fernando was torn out of his thoughts with a start and in his surprise, he splashed water down the front of his shirt with a jerk of his elbow. “Aww, shit...” He turned to face Sergio. “Hey. What did you say?”

 

Sergio nodded at the painting he'd just completed, his face scrunched up in a scrutinizing, but also admiring expression. “I said it's beautiful.” The ghost eyed the dripping brushes in his hand and the water stains on his shirt, making the fabric cling to his chest, and Fernando had to will down a blush threatening to surface. “Sorry about the mess. Is this a bad time?”

 

Fernando inconspicuously pulled the cloth away from his skin and shrugged. “It's okay, I was just cleaning up. What's up? Where's Cesc?”

 

“Iker asked him to run an errand, no idea what it was about. I was just going to drop by for a chat, but...” Sergio turned back to the painting, regarding it closely, and Fernando realized the ghost hadn't been back in the workshop since their first meeting. Not whenever he was present, anyway. He probably hadn't even seen any of Fernando's paintings before. “You know... I think I gotta show you something.”

 

“What? Sergio, I need to build the next-”

 

“Come on!”

 

Sergio didn't even wait for an answer as he hurried out the door and across the lawn, and Fernando had to run to catch up with him, shaking his head at himself. Distraction accomplished. But who was he kidding? It wasn't _unwelcome_. Unsuspecting of his jumbled train of thought, Sergio led the way into the house, up the stairs and straight down the hall to his room, and Fernando suddenly hesitated to follow. He'd never seen the inside of Sergio's room before and he wasn't sure he wanted to. Somehow, it felt way too private.

 

“What is it you wanted to show me?”

 

Sergio turned and beckoned him forward. “Come in and see for yourself.”

 

With a sigh, Fernando took the last step – and immediately stopped when he caught sight of the interior of the room. “Woah,” he breathed.

 

The furniture was hardly worth mentioning: a plain bed, a dark brown armchair and a few shelves that held picture frames, books and some LPs. Nothing out of the ordinary – if it weren't for the dozens of paintings, covering the walls and standing stacked in every corner. 

 

“Are those...?” He couldn't even finish the question as the words got stuck in his throat.

 

“Your uncle's paintings, yes.” 

 

“But...” Fernando struggled to get his thoughts in order. Where the hell...? “I didn't find any when I moved in!”

 

Sergio nodded, faint guilt settling over his features. “I hid them when...” He paused, unable to finish the sentence. “I couldn't stand seeing them.”

 

“What changed?”

 

“I had a look through your paintings a few weeks ago-” He stopped to give an embarrassed and apologetic smile. “And I realized your style is remarkably alike. I suddenly missed them, so I brought them back up here.”

 

Fernando slowly moved forward into the room, taking a closer look at the pictures, and he couldn't deny the similarities between his own way of painting and that of his uncle. The realization stole his breath away for a second, and all of a sudden, he felt his eyes tear up. When he turned back to Sergio, he could see the ghost was fighting tears as well.

 

“I'm so sorry.”

 

Sergio reached out on instinct as if to hug him, but changed his mind mid-motion and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “I'm sorry, too. You know, it was so much easier to resent you for something that wasn't your fault. But then to notice your uncle's kindness in you, and his wit...” He took a deep breath. “It again brought up the pain and I'm sorry I took it out on you.”

 

Fernando buried his hands in his pockets to reign his emotions back in (and to refrain from touching the ghost for comfort – he remembered the feeling too clearly) and turned back to the pictures. “And these are all his?”

 

“Yeah. Go ahead and take a look.”

 

As he cautiously examined the stacks of pictures, Fernando couldn't deny that the similarities were there – in the way they built the scenery and guided the brush as well as the choice of colours. His uncle didn't have access to neon shades yet, of course, not like the glowing nuances he was using, but the combinations of strong and opposed colours...

 

“It's a wonder how everything is connected, right?”

 

Sergio's voice was quiet and sad, and Fernando was just about to cast caution aside and go hug him when his eyes caught on a small picture wrapped in fabric, leaning against the foot of the bed. It definitely looked familiar. “Is that the painting you wouldn't let me see?”

 

“Yes.” A pause. “You can have a look, if you want.”

 

Fernando tried to catch his gaze, but the ghost wouldn't take his eyes from the picture. “Really?”

 

Sergio only nodded and Fernando reached out – and pulled his hand back with a start as the doorbell suddenly echoed through the house. “Jesus...” He hovered for a second, wondering if this would be his only chance to see what was beneath the fabric, but Sergio took over the decision. 

 

“Answer the door, Nando. It'll still be here when you come back.”

 

Reluctantly, Fernando straightened and headed out into the hall. “I hope it's just the postman.”

 

Sergio followed him down the stairs and rubbed his hands. “You open the door and I'll scare the shit out of him!”

 

Fernando huffed out a surprised snort of laughter and rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Just don't drive him off. We still need him.”

 

Sergio shrugged, but his grin only got wider. “Guess you're right. You know, I think Iker discovered Amazon.”

 

Fernando stopped with the hand on the door handle, vaguely wondering where the demon got the money for consumption wonderland, but then he decided that was a mystery best solved when the postman wasn't waiting on the doorstep. He pulled the door open, but the 'hello' died on his tongue when he realized the man on the other side wasn't wearing the postman jacket, but a police uniform instead. He had black hair that was already turning grey at the temples, dark and intelligent eyes and a friendly face – and still, Fernando couldn't help but hold his breath as several scenarios popped up in his head, each more terrible than the last.

 

The officer, probably used to shocking people into silence with his appearance, smiled encouragingly. “Good day, Mr.-” He looked down at a note in his hand. “Torres, I presume?”

 

“Yes...?”

 

“I'm Officer Medina. Mrs. Lopez' oak tree didn't survive the thunderstorm last night, down the road at number 12. The trunk was rotten to the core, God knows what might've happened if...”

 

While the officer was speaking, Fernando tried to get a hold of his nerves. The matter at hand was trivial at best, and yet he couldn't shake off the weird feeling that had settled in his stomach. The officer is just doing his job, he tried to convince himself. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nodding along, he risked a glance at Sergio, hoping the ghost wasn't bent on delivering the scare he'd been planning for the postman. The last thing he needed was a police officer sticking his nose into their otherworldly household. Sergio, however, was standing stockstill, staring at the officer with wide eyes, and Fernando found that wasn't any less suspicious. 

 

“...any problems?”

 

Fernando blinked and focused back on the policeman who was still smiling. He couldn't for the life of him determine what was so strange about that smile. “Pardon? I'm sorry, I was... distracted.”

 

“Are there any problems with power or water supply? Or a cut off internet connection maybe?”

 

Sergio suddenly started gasping for air and then raised his hands to cover his face. It took a huge effort not to turn over to the ghost and ask what was wrong, but Fernando managed to settle for shaking his head. 

 

The officer's eyes flickered through the gap in the door into the hall and then back to him. “Are you sure everything's okay? No offence, but you don't look well.”

 

Fernando shook his head and willed his senses to focus entirely on the policeman instead of Sergio. “I'm fine, thank you. I'll let you know if anything changes.”

 

“Good. Thank you.”

 

The officer pulled a calling card from his pocket and presented it with another of his smiles that was eerily close to a leer, and Fernando quickly snatched it away from his hand. He sucked in a breath when Sergio suddenly fell forward to his knees and tightened his hold on the door handle to keep himself from reaching out.

 

“Thank you,” he forced out. “Good day.”

 

The officer tapped two fingers to his cap and finally turned away. “Good day, Mr. Torres.”

 

Fernando immediately pushed the door shut and bent down to touch Sergio's shoulder. His fingertips began to prickle before he even came close, and he ended up kneeling next to the ghost, hands hovering in the air as his mind reeled. _What the fuck?!_

 

“Sergio,” he whispered. “Sergio, what is it?!”

 

The ghost didn't pay him any heed, but started rocking back and forth instead, hands still pressed to his face. “It hurts,” he gasped. “Fuck, it hurts!”

 

“What? What hurts?”

 

He almost crashed back into the door in his haste to get out of the way when Sergio suddenly jumped up and pulled his hands away from his head. “My face! That's what hurts! Can't you see the blood?!” 

 

The ghost stretched out his hands for him to see, and Fernando forced his eyes away from his face, contorted in terrible wrath, to look at his pale palms. “I see nothing,” he said feebly. 

 

“Are you kidding me?! The fucker stuck a goddamn _knife_ up my head! My blood is literally everywhere!”

 

As Sergio stared at his hands in horror, Fernando could feel the house start to shake beneath him, and he suddenly felt sick to the bones. He remembered the terrible feeling from the moment when Sergio had touched him, but now it was so strong he couldn't breathe. As he sank back against the door, he barely managed to raise his head to look at Sergio who was practically oozing terror and pain. 

 

“Sergio... stop...”

 

And then his world faded to black.

 

 

— † —

 

 

The house itself is silent and still, and faint birdsong is the only sound he can hear. He opens his eyes, blinking against the warm evening light filtering through the open window. “Sergio...?” No answer. “Iker? Sara?”

 

His head is pounding, but he forces himself out of bed anyway, swaying a bit as his legs protest against supporting his whole weight. Gritting his teeth, he makes his way over to the door, using his bookshelf along the wall to steady himself. The hall is just as empty and silent, and he can see the dust dancing in the light falling in through the gaps in the open doors. It looks like a scene from a cheap thriller, but Fernando can't find it in him to laugh at the strange situation. It feels entirely too serious. 

 

“Is anyone home?”

 

Again, no answer. Even though he tries to fight it, fear starts to rise as he pads down the hall, slowly and cautiously, steeling himself for whatever's waiting for him downstairs. Something isn't right, he can feel it. The house is too quiet, too still. Over time, Fernando has learned that, even when Iker and Sara are out, a faint trace of their presence always lingers in the house, like a protection spell. Or is it more like a warning to any unwanted intruders? Shaking his head, Fernando immediately cuts that line of thought. He can think about it later. Right now, the most important thing is that – whatever it is – it's gone. And that can't be a good sign.

 

He's set his foot on the first step of the stairs when he raises his head and risks a glance down into the entrance hall – and he almost misses a stair at the sight. “Sergio!”

 

He hurries down the stairs as fast as he can without slipping and rushes across the hall. He can see the pool of blood before he kneels down next to the ghost, the dark red a stark contrast against the white marble. “Sergio,” he calls again and pushes him over onto his back. He doesn't waste a thought on why he can suddenly touch him, because one look at Sergio's face makes him forget everything else. Where there used to be a scar, there's a gaping wound now, painting his skin red as blood drips down his jaw. 

 

Fernando almost misses the footsteps behind him over the sound of his own erratic breathing, but he suddenly senses someone at his back and whips around. The officer who made the house call is standing above him, a large kitchen knife in hand, the blade crimson and sharp. 

 

Fernando's scream is cut short as the policeman bears down on him. 

 

“ _Fernando!”_

 

He shot up straight in his bed, the scream still waiting beneath the roof of his mouth, and he instinctively shied away when a hand suddenly took a hold of his shoulder. “Fernando,” Sara tried again, much softer this time.

 

He quickly turned to the angel, his eyes wide and scared. “Where's Sergio?!”

 

Sara sighed quietly. “He's downstairs.” She reared back when Fernando suddenly jumped off the bed. “Fernando, he's fine. You must rest!”

 

He ignored her, stumbling his way down the hall and half-falling down the stairs in his haste to find the ghost. There were voices in the kitchen and he barged through the door with Sara right on his heels, calling after him in vain. _Sergio._ Sergio was there, safe and sound, and the scar was back in place. No wound, no blood. Fernando released the breath he'd been holding in an rush and grasped at the doorframe when his overstrained mind started to reel. Sergio immediately stood, his gaze alarmed and sharp with worry. 

 

“Nando! Are you okay?”

 

“Me?!” His voice sounded slightly hysterical, but Fernando didn't care. “I saw you- there was so much blood – and the officer, he-” Sergio's eyes darkened and he abruptly stopped rambling. “Are _you_ okay?”

 

“Nando, have a seat. Sergio was just going to explain.”

 

Fernando blinked as he suddenly realized Iker was there too, and Cesc as well. And both of them wore expressions far too serious for his liking. “What's going on here?”

 

He shook his head when Iker motioned towards a chair, and the demon sighed. “Well then. It seems like that police officer-”

 

“Is the one who murdered me.” Sergio's voice was quivering slightly, but from pain or anger, Fernando couldn't tell. “I remembered everything. Not-” He paused and sank back into his chair. “Not my entire life, but... the moments leading up to my death.”

 

Fernando was almost too afraid to ask. “What happened?”

 

“We'd been together for two weeks or so.” Fernando tried not to show his surprise, but failed miserably. Thankfully, the ghost was too preoccupied with his story to notice. _He's gay._ “It was nothing earth-shattering, you know. But we had fun – until he started hitting out whenever he thought I was looking twice at someone else. I think I wanted to leave that night – but obviously, he thought I shouldn't.”

 

He stopped, and pain filled his eyes as his memories finally came back to him. Cesc reached out and gently touched his elbow, and Sergio gave him a grateful half-smile. “What did he do?,” the little demon prompted. 

 

“Well, he got hold of a kitchen knife and-” He gestured to the scar on his face. “The memories stop there.”

 

The silence that followed was deafening. Sergio looked pale and at a loss, and Fernando ached with the need to pull him into his arms. But he stayed where he was, rooted to the spot by the tale the ghost had just told. It was beyond him why anyone would ever attempt to kill someone he claimed to love. What kind of man decided to end his lover's life for fear of losing him to someone else? A shiver ran down his spine and he shook his head to clear his mind. The most important question was-

 

“What now?” Everyone turned to him, and he realized he'd thought out loud. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat. “I mean... what are you gonna do?”

 

Sergio exchanged a look with Iker and Cesc and when he turned back to him, his eyes were bright with barely suppressed anger. “I'll make him confess.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

Thank you very much for reading! Things are getting interesting! ...I hope? :)


	5. Chapter 5

— † —

 

“Medina.”

 

“Officer Medina, it's Fernando Torres. I don't know if you remember me-”

 

“Oh, I do.” The soft chuckle that followed made Fernando grip the phone tighter as the strange feeling came back full force. He remembered that smile all too well. “The oak tree incident. Something acting up after all?”

 

“Yeah, something's wrong with the power supply and... I don't know anyone around here and since you offered...” Fernando closed his eyes, mortified. How obvious could he be?! He sounded like a total lunatic! “I was wondering if you could... come over and have a look?”

 

There was a pause and Fernando held his breath. _Please..._ "Sure. My shift ends around seven. How does 8 pm sound?”

 

 _Don't fuck this up._ “Wonderful. Thank you!”

 

“Alright. Till then, Mr. Torres.”

 

“Yeah. Bye.”

 

There was a click and then nothing. And yet Fernando took a few seconds to get his nerves in order before he pulled the phone away from his ear. “Damn,” he whispered. He wasn't made for this kind of charade. He'd only ever managed to cultivate his lying and deceiving qualities whenever he'd had to deal with his parents, and that had been a necessary evil he had to commit to in order to stay sane in their suffocating presence. In the end, he'd gotten real good at saying this, but doing that behind their backs, and smiling right in their face along the way.

 

Surprisingly, that kind of skill never transferred to any of his remaining relationships, though, rare as they were. Neither with teachers, nor flatmates, nor the unbelievably rude secretary of his favourite professor. And now that he finally was his own master, with no more need of deception and lies, he suddenly found it didn't come easy. But then again, he was relieved it didn't.

 

“You did well.”

 

Fernando opened his eyes and looked up at Iker, the terror he'd felt still there in his gaze. “What are you gonna do when he arrives?”

 

Iker didn't reply for a long moment, clearly debating if he should tell him the truth, but then his face hardened as he made his decision. “We're going to drive him mad.” Fernando blinked in surprise and opened his mouth, but the demon saw the question coming and held up a hand to stop him. “No, we won't kill him, don't worry. That would be too easy. This way he'll be truly punished for what he did. Who knows, maybe Sergio wasn't the only one he killed?”

 

His calm tone suggested that discussing a man's fate wasn't a first time occurrence for him, and it was a rude reminder that Fernando was talking to the son of the Devil after all. “You think he... killed others?”

 

“It's possible.”

 

“And you're just going to ask him? What if he doesn't want to confess?”

 

Iker shook his head, a cruel smile pulling at his lips. “We're not just going to ask him nicely. I sent Cesc to call in... let's say... _support_.”

 

Fernando could feel the blood drain from his face as he read the truth in Iker's terrible smile. “You're going to _torture_ him?”

 

Iker's eyes flashed as he drew himself up to his full height. “Remember what he did, Fernando. He killed an innocent-”

 

“That's enough, Iker.”

 

Fernando breathed a silent sigh of relief as Sergio's calm voice cut through Iker's angry rant. For a moment, the ghost and the demon engaged in a staring match and it seemed like Iker wouldn't be placated so easily, but then he raised his hands in surrender. “Fine.”

 

Sergio nodded in thanks and took a step forward into the room, pointedly clearing the doorway. “Sara was asking for you. The twins should arrive any minute now.”

 

“Alright, alright,” Iker huffed. “But he's gotta learn there's more to justice than sunshine and roses.”

 

“Whatever you say.”

 

Sergio waited until Iker's grumbling had faded down the hall before he turned to Fernando and gave him a soft and encouraging smile. “How did it go?”

 

“I think my heart stopped beating for the entire conversation. But he'll come. 8 pm.”

 

Sergio inclined his head. “Thank you.”

 

The ghost looked tired, exhausted even, and Fernando wondered if he wasn't as cool about what he was going to do as he claimed to be. “What is there to gain for you? After all these years?”

 

It came out much harsher than he'd planned, but Sergio didn't seem to mind. “He needs to be punished, and we need to know if there's anyone else he killed.”

 

“But what's in it for _you?”_

 

“Closure.” The answer was quick. Too quick. Sergio obviously had been thinking about it for years. “I hope you won't think less of us, now that you know what we're going to do.”

 

Fernando looked down at the phone in his hand to hide the inner battle that was certainly showing on his face. “I don't know what to think right now. I understand he has to be punished for what he did, but I...” He trailed off, unsure how to put his jumbled thoughts into words. A quote from a long forgotten movie suddenly resurfaced in his mind: if you torture someone, you get a confession, not the truth. But he didn't dare say it out loud. “I've been leading a pretty sheltered life, I guess.”

 

“If you don't want to be here tonight, I'll understand. Sara will stay outside in the workshop, because she won't be able to bear it.”

 

“I think I...” Fernando cleared his throat. “I might prefer that, too.”

 

“Good. You know, I-”

 

The sudden appearance of Cesc cut him off. The little demon was radiating nervous excitement, and Fernando immediately knew what he was going to say. As he realized what he was about to witness, he suddenly felt sick. To call for punishment was one thing, but to see it being dealt out was another. He exchanged a look with Sergio, and the ghost gave him an encouraging nod before turning to Cesc, with his head held high and his face unreadable.

 

“What is it, Cesc?”

 

“The twins are here.”

 

— † —

 

Fernando had no images, of course, to go with Iker's idea of support – nor the idea of torturing someone until he confessed to a brutal murder – but he was pretty sure this wasn't what he'd had in mind. Martin and Daniel, or the 'twins' as everyone called them, didn't look like twins. Not identical ones, at least. With their bald heads, however, they certainly passed off as looking alike. Other than that, they were tall and muscular and nothing short of ordinary (and maybe a tiny bit intimidating, with their dark and angry eyes). Had he passed them in the street, he wouldn't have looked twice.

 

The aura they carried with them, however, that was a different story. It was so strong that Fernando could only watch them work from the safe distance of the hall. And even then, he had to actively withstand the urge to turn on the spot and take flight. That Sergio wouldn't leave his side definitely helped. Fernando was sure the ghost was just as wary of the twins as he was. But he couldn't say whether that was because of the negative vibes they were giving off or because he knew what they were capable of. Besides, their gruff reaction to having a human involved in this mess told him what they were thinking of his kind, so a ghostly bodyguard was indeed very welcome.

 

Their preparations certainly didn't look that menacing. If asked about it, Fernando would forever deny he'd thought about circles made with dripping candles or some incantations of some sort, but who was he to question their methods if moving furniture to the walls and laying out tarps over the carpets was all it took? Well, the latter certainly made him feel a bit queasy, if he was honest. He'd seen enough thrillers to guess what they were for.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

He tore his eyes away from the preparations in the living room and looked over at Sergio. The ghost was remarkably calm on the outside, but his tense shoulders betrayed the pressure he was under. “Are you joking? This isn't about me.”

 

“No.” Sergio gave him a small, but sad smile and then turned back to watching the twins. “But I've had years to think about what I'd do if I ever met my murderer. To you, it must seem cruel and inhuman.”

 

Lying was useless, he knew. “Yeah... yeah, it does. But I know you have to do this to find peace, and the others have to because they love you.”

 

He somehow couldn't contain the last part, and when fond amusement crossed Sergio's eyes, he knew it had been a mistake. “What about you?”

 

Fernando shrugged and buried his hands in his pockets. “Shut up.”

 

But then again, he couldn't suppress the embarrassed grin, and Sergio laughed softly. “Well, what can I say? Everybody loves me.”

 

His joke fell flat as Fernando's face suddenly turned serious. “How can you be so unaffected? How can you make jokes when your... your killer is about to ring the bell any second now?”

 

Sergio was quiet for a moment, and Fernando could feel the cracks in the walls of his composure as the air around them began to seethe. “Maybe I've been a ghost for too long already.” He shook his head to clear his thoughts and the air quieted again. “Can you promise me something, Nando?”

 

Fernando frowned, unsure where this was going. “What?”

 

“Keep your heart as beautiful as it is now, okay?”

 

“Sergio...” He stopped, unable to think of something to say, but he was saved by the doorbell. His breathing immediately picked up and the urge to flee became unbearable for a second, but he forced himself to focus on Sergio's presence and nothing else. The ghost looked a few shades paler than moments before, but his expression of cold determination didn't change. This time, he didn't smile when he looked at Fernando.

 

“Go.”

 

Fernando barely had time to nod before loud shouting drew his attention down the hall. And there he was, Officer Medina, dragged down the corridor by Iker and Cesc. The human didn't have a sliver of a chance against the two demons, and Fernando could see he was also affected by the dark aura the house was stuffed with. Still, he was conscious enough to recognize his face, and he immediately stopped spitting insults and curses as his eyes grew wide.

 

“Mr. Torres! What's going on here? Please, help m-”

 

He was interrupted by Iker who put a hand over his mouth. “Shut up, scum.”

 

Fernando bit his lip and risked a glance over at Sergio. The ghost was watching with cool eyes and a stony face as Cesc and Iker pushed the officer into the living room, forcing him down onto his knees in the centre. Fernando couldn't see his face, but he could imagine the panic and horror he was sure to find there as the man stared up at the twins, his whole frame trembling with fear. And somehow, that image rooted him to the spot.

 

“Nando...?”

 

Sergio's quiet voice was close, confused and worried, but Fernando couldn't react as the policeman twisted around to send him a pleading look. “What's going on,” he whispered, his voice small and childlike. Fernando closed his eyes as a sudden rush of pity came over him. _Remember what he did._

 

“Well,” Daniel spoke up, and his voice held the bored tone of someone suffering through the routine meeting of his everyday job. “Since you don't know why you're here, let me remind you. Quite a few years ago, you were in a relationship that was cut short by your jealousy. Is that correct?”

 

“What? I don't-”

 

“The young man you tried to bind to you, though... He sought to break the bond, didn't he? He wanted to leave.”

 

There was only a whimper for an answer as the officer cowered on the floor, and Fernando began to wonder if Sergio was mistaken and they were about to torture an innocent. He opened his eyes just in time to witness the impatient look that passed between the twins before the atmosphere in the room tipped over and all the air in his lungs seemed to dissolve. He couldn't suppress the choked gasp that forced its way out, but when Sergio sent him a worried look, he shook his head. His stomach was doing somersaults and his head began to pound as the temperature dropped considerably, but he was determined to see this through – if only to save an innocent from harm should the twins fail to make him confess. Cesc and Iker, unfazed by the threats of their fellow demons, were watching the scene with unreadable expressions. No help from them.

 

“Now, the most important question: Did you kill him?”

 

Again, there was no answer. Again, the air around them seemed to shift, and this time, their victim began to scream as he squirmed on the floor. Even though Fernando wasn't even close to the epicentre of their power, he felt like his blood was turning to ice in his veins and bursting through his skin. He barely registered Sergio's voice whispering encouraging words into his ear as he fought to keep his eyes open, the need to bend over and curl up on the floor almost irresistible. Raising his hands to clutch at his head, he gasped for air as his knees threatened to buckle.

 

“Stop it!”

 

In the sudden silence that followed, it took Fernando a second to realize the shout had come from him. All of a sudden, the choking pressure was gone and he gulped for air, relieved he could actually feel the oxygen fill his lungs. He risked a glance at Sergio – who wasn't looking at him. Fernando followed his line of sight to the twins who were staring at him with something akin to shock filling their faces. Their hands were still raised and it didn't look like they'd meant to halt their interrogation.

 

“Fernando?”

 

Iker's voice sounded bewildered, and Fernando fought to find his voice through his own confusion. “What? I didn't do anything.”

 

Daniel exchanged an annoyed glare with Martin and opened his mouth, no doubt to demand an explanation, but he was once again interrupted. The sound of laughter was barely there at first, almost like a whisper, but it rose in intensity until Fernando had to cover his ears because it _hurt._

 

“No, he didn't do anything. That was me.” His voice sounded different now, dark and rough and entirely not human, and when the officer rose from the floor and turned around, Fernando could see his red eyes weren't that of a human, either – and they were not focused on him.

 

“Sergio. Long time no see.”

 

Sergio looked absolutely shell-shocked, frozen to the spot in his terror, like a deer caught in headlights. Fernando ached to touch him, shield him, take him away from the reach of his killer, but he couldn't move, either. Where he'd thought the aura of the twins was strong but bearable from a distance, the power their supposed victim was radiating was all-consuming, wafting through every open door, every gap in the wood covering the floor, every cell of his body. And when the creature – whatever it was – turned to him, his eyes boring right through to his very soul, he couldn't resist the urge to cower. He fell to his knees, covering his head with his arms, shaking like a leaf in a storm.

 

“Found a new lover, haven't you? I didn't think you'd be interested in bugs.”

 

“Who are you?”

 

Iker's voice sounded confident – on the outside, but Fernando could hear the faint layer of alert wariness that was waiting underneath, the foreboding of something he couldn't grasp. He wasn't able to think about what that meant, though, because the relief to have the attention of the officer transferred to Iker was overwhelming and took his breath away for a second.

 

“Wouldn't you like to know, your Highness?” His voice was mocking, full of superior amusement, and Fernando gathered all of his remaining strength to raise his head. The creature was facing Iker, and Fernando could see ripples running down his back, the fabric of his jacket shifting and rearranging.“I have no name and yet many. Some call me the Black Shadow, and to some I'm known as the Night Terror, but-”

 

“Save it! What do you want?”

 

The officer laughed again, unfazed by Iker's bravado. It was a terrible sound that hit Fernando in the chest like a blow from a knife, and when Medina raised his arm to point at Sergio, his heart skipped a beat. “I want his soul.”

 

That seemed to wake Sergio from his terrified stupor and he straightened his back. A helpless challenge in the face of so much power. “Well, you can't have it!”

 

“We'll see about that.”

 

Fernando shivered when the atmosphere in the room shifted yet again, and he'd just successfully fought down the bile rising in his throat when all hell broke loose. Sergio suddenly whipped around and reached out to take a hold of his wrist and pull him up. The touch shot up his arm like an electric shock and he forced himself up to his feet, his gag reflex kicking in as his body failed to obey his commands.

 

“Run!”

 

He cringed when Sergio shouted right into his ear and blindly stumbled over to the door, his eyes tearing up when he felt the immense amount of dark power in the air scratch at his skin. He knew he shouldn't, but he wasn't able to fight the need to throw a quick glance back over his shoulder – which proved to be a big mistake. He ground to a halt, paralysed by the sight, and Sergio almost fell into him. He didn't care. With wide eyes, he watched as the officer shed his human shell as if it were a piece of clothing, revealing black skin underneath, littered with scars. Scales were running along the lines of his bulging muscles that shifted and rearranged until his form resembled the shape of a werewolf rather than a human, with his strong legs and long arms. Fernando knew he was looking at a creature built to hunt and maim, but even though his instincts were screaming at him to run, he couldn't move.

 

His relief to see the predator distracted by the demons, however, proved to be short-lived. The creature hissed and snarled as his head swung from side to side, trying to assess their strength and the attacking order. It obviously wasn't hard to pick as he wasted no time with petty words and grand gestures, but simply dove forward with a low growl, arms outstretched to sink his claws into the twins. He never reached them, though. Martin's hand shot out, digging his fingers into Daniel's shoulder and pulling him backwards. The motion was too fast for Fernando to follow, but instead of watching them fall back into the piled up furniture, he saw their bodies flicker and disappear into thin air.

 

“No!”

 

Iker's shout drew Fernando's attention – but not his alone. The predator whipped his head around to focus on the demon, and Iker took a step forward, armed with nothing but a dark scowl and his bare hands. “Cesc, get Ibra!”

 

His opponent huffed out a raspy laugh as he watched the little demon nod and vanish. “That clown of a demon can't hurt me. Besides, he'll be too late.”

 

Iker bared all his teeth in a nasty sneer. “You wish.” Fernando started when Sergio suddenly stepped forward, ready to shift the balance of power, but a warning look from Iker stopped him in his tracks. “Sergio, take Fernando and run.”

 

He'd barely finished the sentence before he sprang forward to attack. The predator welcomed him with open arms and a grin, shoving him back into the wall, the wood cracking and breaking on impact. Fernando couldn't suppress a terrified shout at the sight, and it seemed to tear Sergio out of his indecisive stupor, spinning around and herding him out into the hall. For a short and terrible moment, nausea flared up at his touch and Fernando's eyes fell shut as he fought the need of his body to shut down and put an end to the pressure pressing down on it. He stumbled, his knees buckling beneath him and he barely registered Sergio's voice as white hot pain shot down his spine when his head hit the floor hard.

 

“Nando, get up! Nando!”

 

It took all the strength he could yet muster, but somehow, Fernando managed to focus on the pain instead of the urge to lose his breakfast, and he struggled to his feet. Sergio jumped forward to lead and they rushed down the corridor, the deafening sound of furniture bursting and glass breaking trailing behind them. With every step, Fernando could feel the hold of the predator's powers loosen and when they finally burst through the back door onto the patio and fresh air hit his face, he couldn't suppress a relieved whimper. It quickly turned into a gasp when a hand closed around his shoulder and he spun around – only to come face to face with Sara.

 

“Sara! Are you okay?”

 

The angel certainly looked far from it, with her pale face and her chest heaving with labored breathing. It seemed like Fernando wasn't the only one affected by the dark waves of energy soaking the house. “What happened? Where's Iker?”

 

Sergio wound an arm around her waist and pulled her down the steps into the garden. “I'll explain on the way, but we must leave now!”

 

“No!” Sara tore away from him and Fernando almost expected her to hit the ghost, because she suddenly looked absolutely livid and not at all like the angel she was. “Tell me now!”

 

For a moment, Sergio seemed ready to resort to violence to get her to move, but then he groaned in surrender. “The officer isn't a human as we thought, but a Soul Eater out for my soul. The twins disappeared – the fucking traitors – and Iker sent Cesc to get Ibra, whoever that is.”

 

“And he's fighting the Black Shadow on his own?!”

 

Sara whipped around, ready to march back into the house, but Sergio jumped after her and caught her by the wrist. “To give us time to flee!” The angel ignored his words and began to squirm in his arms, and he struggled to keep his hold on her. “Nando, help me!”

 

Fernando hesitated for a second, but a pleading look from Sergio spurred him into action. He quickly stepped forward to take over and they lost a few precious seconds trying to pin Sara between them without touching. The angel was beside herself with fear for her lover, and Fernando found the hardest part wasn't to pull her down the path, but to ignore her pleas to turn back.

In the end, however, it didn't matter at all.

 

They'd barely made it down half the way between the house and the workshop when an ear-splitting crash forced them to look back, just in time to watch Iker land on the grass in a heap of wood and glass – the remains of the living room window. The demon didn't move to get back up, obviously unconscious, and Fernando felt his heart stop. His grip on Sara began to slip and she seized her chance and slid out of their grasp, taking off towards Iker.

 

“Sara!”

 

Sergio's shout of warning came too late and Fernando watched in horror as the Soul Eater jumped out of the hole in the wall onto the grass, his glowing eyes immediately focusing on Sara. “Well well, this is getting interesting. An angel too?”

 

As his deep voice carried across the lawn, Fernando felt his throat closing up again and he found he couldn't move as the predator bent forward, now eye to eye with Sara. The angel was frozen in fear, leaning over Iker to protect him with her body, but Fernando realized with a sudden terrible clarity that without her powers, she was no match for the Soul Eater, either. None of them were.

 

That didn't keep Sergio from marching forward and calling for his attention. “Oi, you ugly fucker!”

 

Before Fernando could call him back, the predator's head swung around and pinned Sergio with his gaze. The ghost abruptly stopped walking when their eyes met and the Soul Eater grinned in triumph. “You were no match for me in life, and you are no match for me in death.”

 

He rose onto his feet, lazily strolling over, Sara forgotten in the blink of an eye as an opponent already beaten. Fernando caught her gaze and even across the distance, he could see the fear in her eyes, and he suddenly knew they were all going to die – this way or another. 'Run' she mouthed at him, but he couldn't react. He couldn't have moved an inch even if he wanted to: he sat in a trap of energy like a rabbit mesmerized by the snake.

 

“Fate is an interesting concept, isn't it,” the Soul Eater continued in a small talk voice, as if he were discussing the weather. He took his time drawing himself up until he was towering over Sergio, knowing full well the paralysed ghost was no match for his power. “I thought your soul was lost to me forever. And then our paths crossed again.” He reached out and pushed Sergio's head up until he could look him in the eye. His sharp claws dug into his skin, leaving long marks across his throat, and Sergio's eyes widened in surprise. “You thought you were invincible, didn't you? Well, you were mistaken.” He pulled his hand back, smudging the blood dripping from the scratches. “It doesn't matter. I can see now your soul is indeed gone for good. What a shame, it would've been a feast.”

 

“Then get your sick ass outta here!”

 

Sergio's voice was barely above a whisper and he struggled with every word, fighting hard against the onslaught of energy and pain suffocating him. The Soul Eater only laughed, delighted that his prey wasn't giving up so easily. “Hmm... no. Thank you, but no. I must admit I was disappointed at first, but since you present me with another to take your place...”

 

His eyes flicked over to Fernando and Sergio forced out a choked “No!”, but he had no power to stop the inevitable. It was the last thing Fernando heard before white noise took over and his eyes rolled back into his head as he felt the dark aura of the Soul Eater crawl under his skin. His body surrendered without any resistance and he crumpled to the floor, writhing in pain when a foreign presence forced its way into his head, rummaging through his thoughts and his memories. A thousand invisible hands tore at his soul, ripping it to pieces, and he finally opened his mouth to scream.

 

A huge weight settling on his chest cut it short and he was left gulping for air that wasn't coming as the hot breath of the Soul Eater grazed his face. “How does it feel, little one? Giving your life to save the ghost?”

 

 _Sergio!_ He could feel the predator instantly latching onto that thought, skipping through his memories and pulling up images of the ghost – defending the painting, speaking about his uncle with sorrow lining his face, cutting the roses... It was unbelievably painful and tears prickled behind his eyelids as he struggled to breathe. He didn't want to die that way. “Oh, I know,” the Soul Eater cooed. “I know. Nobody does. It will be over soon.”

 

The pain was so all-consuming, Fernando couldn't even fight against the hold the Soul Eater had on him. Agony dripped down his spine, numbing the feeling in his limbs, crawling through his veins at an unbearably slow rate, forcing him to feel nerve after nerve ignite in piercing pain. The images flickering through his mind, however, they were running at a pace he couldn't follow, paralysed by the constant stream of memories and emotions attached to them, like an action movie speeding up until all you can see are flashes of colour and light. He opened his eyes, but it was still all he could see, his whole life passing by in a matter of seconds.

 

The Soul Eater hummed contently as his remaining strength drained quickly from his human shell, and Fernando wondered – with a sudden, startling clarity – what would happen to him if his soul was ripped out of his body. Would he become a ghost? Would he simply cease existing?

 

Would Sergio mourn him too?

 

As another shot of pain wrecked his body, he closed his eyes and hoped for darkness to fall.

 

— † —

 

Thank you so much for reading! And I'm sorry for the cliffhanger! Next chapter won't take too long, I promise!


	6. Chapter 6

— † —

 

 

Everything stopped at once. The pain, the weight on his chest, Sergio's desperate cries, the sound of his own blood rushing through his ears. Gone. For a few terrifying seconds, Fernando didn't dare move, didn't dare hope. But the anguish didn't return, and neither did the grasp of the Soul Eater, so he allowed himself a sigh of relief and sank bank into the cushions. 

 

Cushions. 

 

“Darling, are you awake?”

 

_ Mum.  _ Fernando ripped his eyes open and sat up quickly, only mildly surprised that his body didn't howl in pain. “Mum?”

 

His mother gave him a watery smile, relief giving her face a strangely compassionate edge. “I'm so glad you're okay!”

 

“Where-” He cut himself off as his eyes wildly flickered around the room. His parents' living room. What the- “How did I get here?!”

 

“Your father brought you home.”

 

“But the Soul Eater-”

 

She smiled at him – a real, motherly smile – and he stared at her lips, dumbfounded. “You don't have to worry about him anymore. Your father saved you. Who knows what might have happened if he'd come too late?”

 

This can't be happening, Fernando thought. His mind was still reeling from the feeling of the Soul Eater gnawing away at his soul and for a moment, he couldn't grasp a single coherent thought. But then he remembered, and he shot up from the couch, forcing his mother to take a step back. “My friends! We have to go back and save my friends!”

 

“Your friends?” Her voice had shifted, suddenly icy cold, and the steel was back in her eyes. Just like he remembered her. “I think it's time you realized who you're calling friends here.”

 

He stared at her, panting hard, his body caught between utter confusion and jumping into action.”What?”

 

His mother sighed and sat down on the couch, patting the blank space beside her. “Sit down and I'll explain.”

 

“I'd prefer standing, thank you.” What, what, _what?!_

 

She seemed to notice his impatience and sighed again, her disappointment so obvious, and for a moment, familiar hate seized Fernando in a cold and tight grip. “Your friends are not who you think they are.”

 

He gritted his teeth, rearing to go back on his own, if need be. Come on,  _come on._ “Then who are they?”

 

“They're scavengers, minglers, snooping about our business!” There was anger in her voice, kept tightly in check, and her eyes were burning with it as she returned his glare. “They're leeches, thriving on our energy! We didn't see it when we visited you, and I deeply regret it. They're good at masking their presence, and obviously, they have powerful allies.” She folded her hands in her lap, avoiding his gaze. “What if your father had been too late? I don't want to imagine!”

 

It took a moment for Fernando to regain his voice. When he did, it shook so violently he thought his mother wouldn't be able to decipher the words. “What are you talking about?”

 

She looked up at him, and he almost reared back a step when he saw she was holding back tears. “It was a trap, Fernando. Right under our noses, and we didn't see it! I'm so sorry you had to go through all that pain! We could've prevented it if we had paid closer attention. They must be quite powerful, even in their exile, to be able to fool us.”

 

She stressed the last word, as if the thought of Iker, Sara and Sergio fooling her and her husband was beyond laughable. Fernando didn't even know which question to ask first, and heavy silence stretched between them. His mother looked at him as if he were the best thing that ever happened to her and he couldn't handle that. He'd learned to deal with indifference, with silent treatments, even with rejection, but he couldn't handle her acting like he'd always imagined a mother should.

 

“What do you mean, exile?”

 

“They told you they lost their power, yes?”

 

“Yes...”

 

“For what?”

 

“... falling in love?”

 

His mother sneered. “That was a dirty lie, Fernando. They were exiled because each of them killed one of us.”

 

He couldn't believe his ears. It seemed like the Soul Eater had messed his head up worse than he thought. “Us?”

 

Again, another sigh. For a moment, his mother looked pained, like she was about to confess something he wouldn't like – a lie, most likely, another fucking lie. “Darling, we're demons, too.” She took a deep breath. “And so are you.”

 

She couldn't have hit him harder with a wrench. All the air slipped from his lungs, as if someone had drilled a hole in it, but his throat wasn't working to pull new breath in and everything blurred before his eyes. A demon. A  _demon._ “What,” he muttered weakly. 

 

“Fernando? Darling!” 

 

His mother appeared at his side and gently grasped his elbow, guiding him over to the couch, and he went willingly, unable to struggle anymore. A demon. “How could you- Why did you never-” He couldn't even form a complete sentence.

 

A demon.

 

His mother laid a hand on his cheek and slowly turned his head, so she could look him in the eye. The pain was still there in her gaze. “We wanted you to be able to live a normal life, without all the expectations, without the  _danger.”_ The lines around her mouth hardened again. “But we obviously weren't careful enough.”

 

Fernando blinked. _That_ was her explanation? “Are you fucking kidding me?” He shot up to his feet, his breath coming in short hard gasps. All of a sudden, there was so much _rage_ running through his veins, he couldn't even form words. He raised a shaking hand and pressed it against his aching chest. “This can't be true. You've been messing with my head my whole life! There's only ever been lies!”

 

“It's the truth.”

 

The voice of his mother was even and composed, and it ignited the tight ball of rage in his gut. “Prove it then!”

 

As if on cue, the glasses started rattling in the cabinet, and he turned to stare at them before turning back to his mother, his eyes wide and accusing. “I'm not doing anything, Fernando.”

 

He closed his eyes, his head pounding behind his eyelids. This didn't make any sense. Why should Iker and Sara lie to him? Why should Sergio? Sergio... The anger dissolved as quickly as it has risen, only to be replaced by a deep-rooted longing, tainted by disbelief and pain. “How could he do this to me...?”

 

He barely caught the words himself they were so quiet, but his mother replied nonetheless. “His kind is without honour, darling. They will stop at nothing to sustain their power. It's in their nature.”

 

Anguish struck his heart like a blow from a hammer, and he closed his eyes for a moment. “I think I'd like to be alone now.”

 

“Of course, darling. Your room is the same as you left. We didn't change anything.” He couldn't find it in him to thank her and she didn't seem to expect it. “Call me if you need me.”

 

He didn't reply, afraid his voice wouldn't obey, so he just turned and walked down the hall and up the stairs as if on autopilot. When he reached his room, he paused in the doorway for a second, taking everything in. His mother hadn't lied – for once – there wasn't a thing out of place. It seemed like he'd left only yesterday instead of four years ago. He closed the door and toed off his shoes, dragging his body over to the bed and sinking down into the covers with a silent sigh. The bedsheets were fresh, though. Comfortable.

 

That was the last thought he had before he fell asleep, and his slumber was deep and dreamless.

 

 

— † —

 

 

They fell into a strange routine. His mother kept checking in on him, leaving glasses of his favourite juice and dishes with his favourite food, but he didn't spare them a glance. Whenever his mother entered the room to retrieve the tray, he sat on the armchair by the window, looking out into the vast garden stretching forever behind the house, it seemed. Even his father had come, hovering in the door, watching him with a worried expression, not daring to enter without his consent. And that was even weirder. 

 

As soon as they were gone, though... The tears fell, and he buried his head in his arms as he rocked back and forth. He ruthlessly squashed the sobs rising in his throat, threatening to escape and alert his parents to his grief. He didn't even know he had so many tears to give. It seemed like there was no end to them as he thought of Sergio and his flashing eyes, his toothy grin, his strong voice. He didn't want to believe the ghost had tricked him. Everything had seemed so sincere – his affection, his friendship, even his initial rejection.

 

He looked down at his forearms, where stubborn, tiny crumbs of dried paint were still clinging to his skin. What was he supposed to do now? Build another life from scratch? Learn how to be a demon? 

 

Be a demon. 

 

Laughter trickled up his throat, gently at first, barely noticeable, but soon enough, he couldn't keep it down anymore, and he threw his head back and laughed wholeheartedly. What a ridiculous thought. Him, a demon. He didn't feel different from the ordinary human being he'd been raised to be. He'd listened to himself, reaching deep down into his mind and his body, but no... there were no hidden talents, no hidden powers. He was Fernando still. Maybe his parents could teach him. But teach him what? What did a demon do all day? He grinned again, watching his reflection in the window bare all of its teeth in a humourless sneer as he glared himself in the eye.

 

Only, they weren't his eyes. Fernando reared back from the window as he realized there was someone else behind the glass, but he barely had time to get up before a familiar presence filled the room. He swung around, his arms coming up to defend himself, but when he caught sight of the intruder, he froze mid-motion.

 

“Nando,” Sergio whispered, urgently, raising his hands to placate him. “Listen, I don't have much time.”

 

“To do what,” Fernando asked, automatically, but then he realized who he was talking to. _It was a trap._ “What the hell is going on? What did you do to me?!” 

 

“Nando, please-”

 

_They are leeches, thriving on our energy!_ “Did you draw off my... energy?” He stumbled over the word.

 

“No! I'd never!” 

 

Sergio stepped up to him, reaching out, but Fernando pushed him back. Touching him didn't hurt. “What the-” He glared at the ghost, the silent accusation visible in his eyes, and Sergio's eyes softened, pleading with him to believe what he was going to say.

 

“I didn't fake it. Your parents made sure you wouldn't discover you were a demon.”

 

Fernando shook his head, suddenly exhausted. “I have no idea what that means.”

 

“I'll explain.” Fernando winced when Sergio used the same words – even the same begging tone – as his mother. Everyone wanted to explain. But he didn't understand. Why didn't he understand? “But you have to come with me.”

 

The pain was so strong. Fernando bent forward as shivers of agony ran down his spine. He couldn't breathe. “No, tell me now. Was it a trap? Everything that happened between us... Was it a lie?”

 

Sergio hesitated for a moment too long and Fernando gritted his teeth against the pain. “I will explain, Nando, but you _must_ trust me!”

 

“My son will not take orders from a traitor, Mr. Ramos!”

 

Sergio whipped around to face Fernando's father, and all of a sudden, the atmosphere in the room was tinged with barely suppressed energy, dark and hurting and choking. “No,” Fernando muttered, a hand coming up to clutch at his pounding head. “Don't fight, please.”

 

Sergio reached a hand out to him without taking his eyes off Fernando's father and his blazing red eyes. Weird... Fernando was sure he'd seen them before. “Come with me, Nando.”

 

“He will not,” José hissed, and his voice wobbled, fraying at the edges, dark and out of this world. “You will not, Fernando, you hear me?”

 

Fernando looked down at Sergio's hand, still hovering in the air between them, then back up into his father's inhuman eyes. He knew those eyes. He knew that voice. But neither belonged to his father. Closing his eyes, he blindly reached out towards Sergio, suppressing a sigh when his fingertips met the smooth skin of his palm. 

 

“Sergio, take me home.”

 

He opened his eyes just in time to see the Soul Eater flying at him, his mouth opened wide, teeth gleaming in the low light as the room fell away behind him. But all he focused on was Sergio's hand in his, gentle and warm.

 

He wasn't prepared for the pain. It was different from the ache he'd felt just moments before. It was heavier, stronger, not consuming his heart, but his body. And it was _everywhere_. In his bones, in his blood, in his head. He tried to suck in a vital breath to save his shattered lungs from bursting, but the crushing weight of the Soul Eater pushed him down into the ground. The creature reared back as if he'd been slapped, his dark eyes widened in surprise and filled with terrible wrath, his teeth bare, ready to tear out his throat.

 

It didn't come to that.

 

The predator froze, and for a moment, everything seemed to pause and listen. Even the hands pulling at his mind stilled, and Fernando relaxed back into the grass as his quivering heart slowed down until he could barely feel the beats. He just wanted this to end.

 

And then the weight disappeared from his chest and Fernando's throat was wrecked with weak coughs as the Soul Eater not only pulled away from his body, but also from his mind. All of a sudden, he could feel everything at once: his burning lungs, filling too quickly with too much oxygen; his aching limbs where the predator had pinned him down; the gaping hole he had torn into his mind. His senses came back much more slowly as the pressure of the Soul Eater's energy only reluctantly wore off, and yet little by little, he could make out distant sounds filtering through. Shouting. The clash of metal on scale. Hissing. Snarling. 

 

The muscles in his neck burnt as if on fire, but by sheer force of will, he managed to turn his head towards the noise and open his eyes. He blinked slowly as the tears forced their way free, leaving a hot trail down his face. Everything was blurred, as if he were watching through someone else's glasses, but he could make out several shades in the twilight. Some were fighting against a much darker shadow – and two of them were running towards him. 

 

“Nando! God...” 

 

Sergio's voice sounded thick with tears and close to breaking and Fernando wanted to smile encouragingly and tell him he was fine. Nothing happened. He could only blink drowsily at him, like a drunk owl, but it seemed to be enough for Sergio who looked like he was about to pull him into his arms in his relief. But then Sara pushed him aside and Fernando sighed softly when her cool hands framed his face, gently wiping away the tear tracks. 

 

“Fernando, darling! Can you hear me?”

 

He could feel his cramped muscles relax as her aura settled over the remnants of the Soul Eater's intrusion, smoothing over the cracks in his mind and soothing the pain raging in every part of his body. As he relaxed against her hold, he could feel the fatigue return to his bones. He was so tired.

 

“Sara?”

 

“He will be fine, Sergio. The Soul Eater decided to toy around with him before dealing the final blow. That's good.”

 

Fernando tried to raise an eyebrow as her words slowly registered. How was that a good thing? He looked up to find Sergio smiling down at him, and – was that black shadow supposed to be coming closer? Sergio noticed his eyes widening and frowned in confusion. When he finally turned, it was already too late, and the Soul Eater bore down on him with a furious growl. 

 

Fernando wanted to scream, to reach out, to fight back as the dark presence of the predator once again tore at the ruins of his mind – but all he could do was close his eyes against the agony as his soul collapsed like a house of cards and finally... finally everything turned to black. 

 

 

— † —

 

 

I know it's evil, the same cliffhanger _again!_ But I hope you'll bear with me (and maybe tell me what you think?). Thank you so much for reading!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't wait to post this. :) Many thanks to everyone who stayed with me this far and to Lu for giving the go-ahead! <3

— † —

 

 

At first, there'd been nothing. Like a vast cave, or the interior of a huge cathedral, echoing with voices, thoughts, sounds he couldn't grasp. At first, he'd thought he was dead, caught in a strange state of not alive, but not yet through to the other side, either. But then the pain had returned, sometimes piercing through him like the tip of a spear, something rolling through his mind like a lazy wave, slow but all-consuming. He couldn't believe there was supposed to be pain waiting for him in the afterlife. Now that he knew that Heaven and Hell had no part in rewarding or punishing unsuspecting humans, even less so. 

 

After a while, though, he grew indifferent to the pain. It was always there, anyway, like a feral dog chained to him by too short a leash, constantly nipping at his ankles, but never actually following through with its threats. With nothing else to do, he started listening to the voices, the thoughts, the sounds... and soon enough, he recognized some of the words. 

 

“ _...wake up?”_

“ _Yes... strong.”_

“ _...will be left? ...his mind?”_

“ _...don't know...”_

 

“ _Any change?”_

“ _No...”_

“ _Can I do anything?”_

“ _... sorry, Cesc.”_

 

“ _Won't he starve?”_

“ _Humans don't... within two days.”_

“ _But what if he doesn't-”_

“ _It won't come to that.”_

“ _... wish I had your faith.”_

 

Something was strange about these voices. Something just didn't seem right. Something was missing. It took him a while to realize, but when he did, his whole bleak and fleeting existence seemed to grind to a sudden halt. Sergio's voice. Sergio's voice was the one that was missing. And yet, it was the only one he needed to hear. Why was it missing?

 

“ _I'll stay for the night. You deserve a break.”_

“ _Thank you, Cesc.”_

“ _Fernando, you can't leave now, okay? Sergio needs you.”_

 

“ _Why isn't he waking up?”_

“ _I don't know, Iker. I can feel he's still there. All he needs is a reason to come back.”_

“ _I wonder what that could be. Can he hear us?”_

 

“ _How long until the Soul Eater returns?”_

“ _A few hundred years, at least.”_

 

The Soul Eater. Black skin, scales, terrible terrible eyes, boring right into his soul. A gasp forced its way out as his heart pounded violently against his ribs. He suddenly remembered the weight. He remembered the agony, the invasion into his mind, the shadow. _Oh God._

 

“Fernando?” His eyes snapped open and he gulped down a gust of air, his arms flailing as he suddenly found himself back in his own, now foreign body. “Fernando!”

 

Warm hands covered his, and the effect was instantaneous. Sara's presence seeped into his bones and his mind, extinguishing the fires of panic threatening to break out, grounding him in his own skin. He focused on breathing deeply, letting the oxygen flow through his veins, unhindered by a dark power ready to kill him right on the spot. The pain in his body was strangely subdued, reduced to a dull throbbing in his muscles that surfaced only when he focused on it.

 

“Soul Eater...?” His voice was barely audible, unused and raw, but Sara immediately shook her head.

 

“Gone.”

 

“Is everyone okay?”

 

The angel hesitated for a moment, and Fernando felt his stomach drop. _No..._ “Well... Sergio, he-”

 

“Where is he?”

 

His voice didn't leave any room for argument, and with a sigh, Sara got up from her chair. “Let me call-”

 

Fernando didn't even wait for her to finish the sentence as he dragged his aching legs over the edge and pushed himself up onto his feet. _Wow._ Pain shot through his whole body like lightning, setting his nerves on fire and he started to sway as his thoughts stumbled over one other like newborn puppies in a box. Only Sara's hand against his forehead kept him from blacking out instantly, and he pressed his face into her palm, craving the quiet ease and calm confidence she radiated.

 

“Iker!”

 

“Shit,” he mumbled under his breath. How embarrassing. But embarrassment was completely irrelevant. He had to see Sergio, had to be sure he'd be okay. Right now. “I'm fine.”

 

“Fernando!”

 

Before he could even turn to face the demon, Iker had crossed the distance between the door and his bed with two big steps, pulling him into a close hug. After his experience with the brute force of the Soul Eater, Iker's grim presence felt overwhelmingly familiar and entirely welcome, and Fernando returned the embrace as tightly as he could. Safe. Home. _No lies. No traitors._

 

He blinked at the sudden thought, but when Iker bent down to look him in the eye, it was gone again. “Are you okay?”

 

Fernando nodded against his shoulder and then pulled back – only to be crushed in a different set of arms. “Dammit, Nando, you scared the shit out of me!”

 

“It wasn't my fault.”

 

“I know. Still scared the living daylights out of me.”

 

Fernando smiled faintly. As happy as he was to see his little family in good health... there was still one of them missing. “Can I see Sergio?” Cesc's face immediately fell as he exchanged a sad look with Iker, and Fernando briefly closed his eyes. “Is he... badly hurt?”

 

“Come on.” Cesc gently took his hand and pulled it across his shoulders, taking over most of his weight. “I'll take you.”

 

The few steps down the hall to Sergio's room seemed to take forever, giving his rattled mind enough time to come up with one nightmare scenario after the other. And yet, he wasn't prepared for what was waiting for him and he stopped in the doorway, rooted to the spot as all his remaining strength drained from his body. 

 

“Sergio,” he whispered, but the ghost didn't reply. He didn't move at all, tucked into bed with the covers pulled up to his waist. They didn't conceal the gaping wound in his side, dark spots of blood staining his shirt. That wasn't the worst, though. It took Fernando a moment to realize what it was, but when he shuffled closer, he noticed the outlines of Sergio's body seemed to shift constantly, like a camera switching between different zoom levels. Like he was... fading.

 

“Is he going to-” He trailed off abruptly. Was 'die' even the right word for a ghost?

 

“We don't know.” Cesc pulled him closer to his body as he started to tremble with exhaustion and shock and gently pushed him over to the armchair. “He just won't wake up.”

 

Fernando sank back into the cushions with a grateful nod, but he couldn't take his eyes off of Sergio's face. To see him so quiet and still... it just wasn't right, and the fear of losing him was suddenly overwhelming. “Is it possible?”

 

“Well, none of us have any experience with-”

 

“Cesc!”

 

The little demon avoided his gaze, biting his lip. “As far as we know, it is possible.”

 

_ It is possible. _ Fernando closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair.  _It is possible Sergio might die._ Sure, they hadn't had the luxury of a like-at-first-sight start to their friendship, or even of a good first impression. And maybe the middle had been difficult, too, with many misconceptions and misunderstandings lining the way. But even with all that baggage clinging to their relationship, he'd become fond of the ghost, of his nasty humour, his quick mouth and his strong will. Somewhere along the way, he'd accepted Sergio's presence as an everlasting part of his life – to imagine it without him... He didn't even want to finish that thought. He'd never forgive himself if Sergio had to give his own life only to save his.  _Sergio, take me home._

 

“What happened? Last night, I mean.”

 

Cesc put down the picture frame he'd been examining and crossed the room to settle down on the floor beside him. “Sara was pulling Iker to his feet when I came back with Ibra, and Sergio was frozen to the spot as the Soul Eater-” He stopped for a moment, and a shadow passed his face. “I thought you were dead.”

 

Fernando reached out and briefly squeezed his shoulder. “But I'm not.”  _Thanks to Sergio._

 

“No, you're not.” Cesc gave him a soft smile and then looked down at his hands in his lap, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “We drew the Soul Eater away from you, and Ibra even managed to land a fatal blow. We underestimated his strength, though. Instead of dying, the bastard got back up and tried to finish what he'd started. And Sergio...”

 

“Saved my life. I know.” 

 

_ His kind is without honour, darling. They will stop at nothing to sustain their power. It's in their nature. _

 

_ My son will not take orders from a traitor, Mr. Ramos! _

 

“Nando...!”

 

His eyes shot open, and Cesc took a step back in surprise. Why had he been so close? “What?”

 

“You...” Cesc blinked, bewildered. “I think you fainted.”

 

Fernando frowned. What the- “How long was I out?” He looked over at Sergio. Nothing had changed there.

 

“About a minute. I was just about to call for Sara when you came back around.”

 

He sighed and pulled a hand down his face. For fuck's sake. That bastard had thrown him completely off kilter, it seemed. “The Soul Eater... what about him?”

 

“Well, his body crumpled to pieces.”

 

“What do you mean, his body? What else is there?”

 

Cesc's face held a weird mixture of grave seriousness and slight appeasement, and Fernando knew he was about to say something that went above the understanding of his simple human mind. “Soul Eaters grow stronger with every soul they get which, ultimately, makes them very hard to kill. You can only finish off the body, though. No one has found a way to destroy the spirit yet.”

 

Fernando shot up straight in his chair. “You mean he'll come back?!”

 

“No!” Cesc quickly held up his hands. “No no no. I mean, yeah, eventually, but it'll take a while. You know, I've never seen such a strong Soul Eater before. He must've been very old, ancient almost. He won't recover from Ibra's blow in your life-time.”

 

_ What about Sergio's life-time, though?  _ Fernando turned back to the bed and strained his senses, trying to feel his presence, but it was obviously too weak for him to catch. His eyes locked on the scratches across his throat and the wounds littering his side, but he couldn't keep it up for long as unease crawled up his throat. 

 

“We couldn't find a way to tend to his injuries,” Cesc said quietly. “Iker sent Ibra back home to find someone who could, but I don't think-”

 

“Did anyone say my name?”

 

Fernando jumped up in alarm when a man materialized in the middle of the room. Well, not necessarily a man. He may look like a human wrestler with his long hair, sharp nose and broad chest, but his impossibly dark eyes betrayed his kind.

 

“Yeah, indeed I did. Fernando, this is Ibra.”

 

The demon smiled down at him – or pulled the corners of his mouth into what he thought might pass as a smile – and inclined his head. “There are not many who can brag about surviving the attack of a Soul Eater. I see you have the heart of a warrior, little one.” He raised a hand and reached out to lightly tap his chest, but Fernando quickly shied away, the feeling of burning skin too fresh in his mind. Ibra pulled his fingers back with a (terrifying) disappointed look, but he didn't take it badly. “Forgive me. I realize you must be wary of our powers after all you've been through, but let me assure you that not everyone's strength lies in making people grumpy with their negative aura like His Royal Pestilence out in the hall.”

 

“Yeah, because your strength is obviously based on stealth, right?” Iker's voice was sharp but fond, as if this were a game they came back to every time they met, yet it was also laced with concern. “What did you find?”

 

“Nothing. Your father told me he'd never before heard of ghosts suffering injuries. Still, he'll keep an eye out for the spirit of the Soul Eater should he return.”

 

Cesc leaned over to Fernando. “You know, Ibra is the Devil's personal bodyguard,” he whispered. But Fernando wasn't even listening. _Nothing._ He closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands as he sank back into the chair. _Nothing._ If no one could tend to the wounds, would they at least heal by themselves? 

 

“Oh yeah, because he cares so much about us.”

 

Or would Sergio simply fade?

 

“Your Highness, with all due respect,” Ibra growled and it didn't sound respectful at all. “I advise you to rein in your temper or there will be consequences.”

 

What about his spirit?

 

“Oh, Ibra! Quit the big bad bodyguard charade. It's not like he can hear me.”

 

Would it be gone for good this time?

 

“Guard your ton-”

 

“Enough!” Fernando almost recoiled when the bickering demons suddenly turned to him, the anger in their glares softening to surprised curiosity. But for God's sake, he couldn't _think_ in this racket! “Could you finish your argument outside? Please?”

 

_ They're leeches, thriving on our energy! _

 

It seemed like they realized just then where they were and what was happening around them, and both of them inclined their heads in apology. Any other time, the image of Ibra pushing Iker ahead out of the room with Cesc trailing behind would have been amusing, but with Sergio _dying_ right next to him, with no help in sight... A surge of blind anger rolled through his veins and all of a sudden, he had to hold back tears of frustration. What the fuck should he do?!

 

“They didn't mean any disrespect.”

 

He quickly swallowed the tears and risked a glance up at Sara's face. The angel seemed even sadder and paler than the last time he saw her and he struggled to his feet to pull her into a hug. “I know,” he sighed. “It's just... It's like they don't even care!”

 

Sara gently tightened the embrace and then pulled back. “Iker never forgave his father for barring him from coming back to hell. But I know he did it because he knew it would destroy Iker if he had to choose between me and his home. Thus, he suffered not only the absence of his son, but also the hostilities of many a demon who disapproved of his decision. And I'm very grateful he took all of this upon himself just so we could be together.”

 

Fernando frowned in confusion. “Why are you telling me this?”

 

“Iker and Cesc do care about Sergio. But they think it's time to finally let him go.”

 

Her words hit him like a whip and he sank down onto the edge of the bed. His fingertips grazed Sergio's hand and he laced their fingers tightly together. The ghost's weakened presence barely tickled his skin. _I didn't fake it. Your parents made sure you wouldn't discover you were a demon._

 

He froze as, suddenly, everything made sense. He remembered his mother, his father, Sergio taking him home. What if- “Sara?” 

 

“Yes?”

 

“I'm not a demon, am I?” He couldn't stop the panic from seeping into his voice. What if it was true? What if his mother hadn't lied for once?

 

For a long moment, Sara frowned, but then her forehead smoothed out in understanding. “Did the Soul Eater tell you that?”

 

“I... think so.”

 

Sara smiled softly and bent forward to kiss his forehead. “No, you're not a demon.”

 

It was strange. Strange how relieved he was. There were so many people watching supernatural movies, wishing they were part of this world, and Fernando was living their dream, in a household full of creatures from Heaven and Hell, and yet... And yet he wanted no part in it. It had brought him a family, yes, but also enough pain to last him a life-time. He'd rather give everything he had to save Sergio than live an endless life, stretched across centuries, thinking about the pain of losing him over and over again. 

 

Tears welled up in his eyes, and this time, he didn't bother holding them back. “Do you think I'm selfish, because I don't want him to go?”

 

Sara gently cupped the back of his head and tugged him into a loose embrace, but her aura did nothing to calm him down. “No, I understand. To be parted just when you'd grown close... But-” She stopped mid-sentence and Fernando pulled back to look at Sergio's face. Still nothing. “But I'm afraid you will have to prepare yourself for saying good-bye.”

 

“Is there nothing we can do?”

 

Sara shook her head and pulled a hand over his hair. “Why don't you stay with him and call me if anything changes?”

 

Everything in Fernando rebelled against the mere thought of watching Sergio die right in front of his eyes, but he nodded nonetheless. He owed it to the ghost, at the very least. “What will happen when...” 

 

Sara paused on her way to the door and turned back with a barely there smile. “I will pray for my Lord to grant his spirit a place in heaven.”

 

_ Pray.  _ Fernando looked down at their joint hands and sighed. He hadn't prayed for so long... but then again, what was there to lose? With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and gently squeezed Sergio's fingers.  _Dear God, I know you haven't heard from me in a while, but please... don't let him go._

 

 

— † —

 

 

The front door banging shut rang like a shot through the whole house, and it woke Fernando from a deep and dreamless slumber. His mind was a bit slow to catch up, aimlessly swinging back and forth between different thoughts and images, before he finally managed to get a handle on the raging chaos. He sighed. That would probably take a while to get back to normal. With a soft groan, he forced his eyes open – and immediately reared back. His sore muscles protested loudly as he struggled to sit up on the edge of the bed, but then he realized: there had been no pain, no unpleasant feeling pooling in the pit of his stomach. Even with his head resting against Sergio's shoulder, his sleep had been anything but troubled. When he looked down at their still joint hands, he felt ashamed. While his friend was fighting for his life, he had nothing better to do than to squash him in his sleep. Sergio, however, didn't seem to mind. Fernando wished he would.

 

With a sudden clarity, he realized he was missing the uncomfortable prickle that usually accompanied Sergio's touch. More than anything else, it was a symbol for the life that still burned in him like a bright light, against death and all other odds. Fernando would take anything over the weak flicker tickling his skin where their fingers touched – nausea, snarky remarks, temper tantrums. Anything if it meant Sergio would live. 

 

But dusk was already setting and the ghost hadn't even moved an inch. However... Fernando narrowed his eyes against the fading light, but the result remained the same. The slight shifting back and forth of Sergio's body contours he had noticed earlier – it had definitely increased. He'd just opened his mouth to call for Sara when a slight squeeze of his hand reduced the shout to a choked noise of surprise. 

 

“Nando...?”

 

Sergio's voice was soft, almost too faint to carry across the two feet that separated them, and Fernando quickly leant forward, Sara immediately forgotten. “I'm here. How do you feel?”

 

“Like shit.” Sergio slowly blinked his eyes open and attempted a crooked grin. “Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah.” Fernando chuckled softly, his relief breaking through and marking his voice with the threat of tears. “Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks to you.” 

 

“Huh. Seems like I served a greater purpose after all.”

 

Fernando rolled his eyes, but secretly, he was glad the ghost hadn't lost his humour. That was a good sign. “I'll go get Sara, okay?”

 

“No!” Sergio pulled him back down unto the bed as the playfulness bled from his face, only to be replaced by the most serious expression Fernando had ever seen on him. “No... I can feel my body fading and I-”

 

“Sergio, no!” Fernando shook his head, his voice thin and desperate. “Let me get help!”

 

“There is no one who can help me. My strength is quickly draining, Fernando. What is left of it.”

 

“But-”

 

“Listen, my time is running out, but I want you to know-” He paused, obviously searching for the right words, and his body began to blur for a moment, but then he blinked and it snapped back into focus. “I want you to know how happy I am that I had the chance to meet you.”

 

“But if it weren't for me, you would-”

 

“Haunt this godforsaken place for centuries, my whole world narrowed down to a demon and an angel for company.” His eyes flicked to the door for a moment and Fernando whipped around. Iker and Sara were watching the scene with sadness darkening their features, and Cesc right behind them looked outright shattered, tears burning in his eyes. The sight made Fernando's own eyes sting and he turned back to Sergio who was watching him fondly. “I'm sure they have more important things to think about than keeping me entertained.”

 

“Sergio, what about me?!”

 

“Fernando, listen...” Sergio didn't seem to hear him, struggling more and more with each word and Fernando tried to get a lid on his emotions so he wouldn't miss a single one of them. “There's nothing I regret. Nothing but wasting time with petty cruelty when I could've used those few precious weeks to get to know you better.” 

 

“No, you couldn't know!”

 

Sergio cocked his head as if to listen, and Fernando paused, his blood running cold. “I believe someone's coming to take me home.”

 

Fernando frowned in confusion. “What? This is your home!”

 

Sergio didn't get to answer, though, because all of a sudden, the room filled with another presence, foreign and completely different from the demonic energy currents Fernando was familiar with. It felt more like... He quickly turned – and came face to face with a young man who was staring back at him with the same dumbfounded expression Fernando was sure could be found on his own face. 

 

“Who are you?”

 

“Uh...”

 

“David!”

 

“Sara!”

 

The man took a quick step forward as if to hug the angel, but then he suddenly seemed to realize she wasn't alone. He ground to a halt, suspiciously eyeing Iker who was staring back at him with the darkest glare he could muster. 

 

“Well...” For a moment, the man struggled to come up with a way to avoid the awkward 'so this is where you've been since your banishment' conversation, but then his eyes dropped to the clipboard in his hand, his light afro falling forward into his face. “I thought I was sent here to collect a spirit. But-” He looked up, his eyes narrowing in confusion as he sized up the demons in the doorway. “I guess there's been some mix-up and you guys are responsible.”

 

“No.” Sara's voice was quiet and sad, but steady. “This is not a mistake.”

 

Fernando sent her a betrayed glare, ready to fight the inevitable, but Sergio's soft voice made him turn back to the ghost. “Nando... it's no use. I gotta go.” He turned to his family at the door. “I'm sure we'll meet again some time.”

 

“I hope not,” Iker remarked drily. “But I'll miss your ugly face.”

 

Sergio chuckled, but it turned into a vicious cough, his body flickering as it drained him from the last remaining strength. “Nando, don't be sad.” He slowly raised a hand and caressed his cheek. “I wish you a long and happy life.”

 

“Sergio...”

 

The ghost smiled an unusually shy smile. “I'll see Javier again. It's all I ever wanted.”

 

“But-”

 

He stopped when Sergio drew his thumb over his lips to silence him and then pulled him forward until he could press a short kiss to his mouth. “See you,” he whispered against his lips.

 

“Okay.” David's impatient voice tore Fernando out of his state of shock and he leant back, his gaze locked on Sergio's smiling eyes. “We gotta go.”

 

Fernando opened his mouth, but nothing came out as he watched Sergio's body fade into the dim light of dusk. He reached out and gently touched the covers, but there was nothing left. No body. No blood. No life. And only then he finally realized – Sergio was gone. 

 

 

— † —

 

 

Thank you so much for reading! And please don't hate me. This will make sense eventually, I swear! 


	8. Chapter 8

— † —

 

 

Fernando had finally given up. He had tried everything he could think of: water, caresses, special fertilizer, encouraging words. He'd even asked Sara for help, but not even the angel could change the course of nature. But then again, maybe it was only fitting, Fernando thought as he looked up at the once breathtaking roses framing the patio pillars, now reduced to black remains of crooked stems and leaves. Why shouldn't the roses, deprived of both their creators, refuse to co-operate with anyone else? He couldn't blame them for missing Sergio and his presence. 

 

His death had certainly hit them all hard. Iker and Sara had been unusually quiet, sticking together even closer than before, grateful that their other half was safe and sound. Cesc had avoided their house altogether for a few days, unable to come to terms with the fact that one of his best friends was gone, beyond his reach as a supernatural creature sitting low in the hierarchy. After a few days, however, normality seemed to seep back into their daily routine, despite the huge hole Sergio's death had torn into their family. 

 

For Fernando, however, things were different. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, least of all to Iker and Sara who were watching him from a distance, exchanging worried glances whenever they thought he wasn't looking. But ever since Sergio had faded from his life, a part of him seemed to be missing, gone without a trace just like the ghost. He couldn't explain it, not with words anyway. They had built a close friendship he hadn't thought possible when they'd first met, and Fernando had cared a great deal for Sergio in the end, and yet it surprised him how much it hurt. It felt like death had not only taken Sergio from him, but had crawled under his skin as well, to be carried with him at all times. 

 

He'd accepted Sergio's death as the liberation of his spirit, as a chance for reunion with his uncle, as a gift from heaven. But the wounds wouldn't heal – neither the emotional ones nor the ones the Soul Eater had inflicted upon his mind. From time to time, he still found himself to be unable to remember what he'd done just five minutes ago, or to grasp the ending of a sentence he'd just started, chasing the train of thought without ever reaching it. Iker and Sara always pretended they didn't notice the lull in the conversation, trying to make up for it with mindless chatter. 

 

At that point, Fernando usually got up and left to sit on the patio stairs, staring up at the roses and wondering what he should do. He knew he couldn't mourn Sergio forever. Life had to go on somehow. But he just couldn't force himself to get up and stop wishing for things to go back to how they were before. The last new start had been difficult enough – to forge another one so soon afterwards seemed too big a task.

 

“Nando?” He didn't answer, but inclined his head to show he was listening. “A journalist from the local newspaper is here. He said you agreed to do an interview on the exhibition opening?”

 

Oh. The exhibition. Tomorrow. He remembered the gallery owner, charming as always, almost spitting fire when he told her he could only deliver nine of the ten paintings they had agreed on. A dark grin pulled at the corner of his mouth as he wondered how the infernal woman would react to a Soul Eater pouncing on her and tearing into-

 

“Fernando?”

 

Iker's voice was filled to the brim with concern, and somehow, it made him angry. Why couldn't they just leave him be? “I forgot.” _And I don't care._

 

It seemed like the demon got the silently added message from his hostile tone, because the answering irritation was clearly audible when he replied. “I'll tell him you're not feeling well then.”

 

“Yeah. Whatever.”

 

Iker huffed and disappeared back into the house, the door falling shut with a bang that carried wide in the quiet, and Fernando immediately regretted his reaction. It wasn't Iker's fault. It was nobody's fault, really. He'd never believed in fate, but after witnessing such a long line of chances and accidents, he wasn't so sure what to believe anymore. There had to be a reason why he had inherited his uncle's house, why he'd met Sergio, why the Soul Eater had chosen their street number to attend to his alibi job – why Sergio had saved his life and lost his own. He couldn't see the end of it, though. He'd never done anything in his life that deserved such a punishment. 

 

A sharp sting shot through his chest and up his throat, and he quickly grasped the front of his shirt, balling up the fabric in a tight fist as he bent forward, gasping for air. He knew the pain wasn't there, not really. He'd gone to see his doctor, but to no use. There was nothing wrong with him. From a medical point of view, he was perfectly fine. That didn't stop the phantom pain from acting up from time to time, reminding him of that one night in his life he'd like to forget most of all. And it certainly didn't prevent it from hurting.

 

With an exasperated sigh, he pulled a hand down his face as he felt his mind once again fray at the edges from the effort it took to keep up that line of thought. He was sick of wondering, sick of being a jerk to the others, sick of being paralysed by his grief. He paused, trying to calm down his mind enough to think of something to distract himself. 

 

He hadn't held a brush in a while. Paint. He should paint! Live up to the deal, whip up the missing painting and rub it in the face of the gallery owner. He shot up from the stairs and almost tripped down the steps in his haste to reach the workshop, but then another thought hit him. Inspiration. He needed inspiration. But what? Where? 

 

_ His uncle's paintings.  _ Decision made, he hurried into the house and up the stairs, almost knocking over Iker who met him halfway down on the landing. He ignored the questions the demon threw after him and stumbled to a halt in front of Sergio's door. And suddenly, he hesitated. His blood was singing in his ears as the short gasps for breath made his chest heave, and he raised a shaking hand to gently touch the wood. Since Sergio's death, he hadn't had the heart to enter his room... But he somehow knew he had to. Maybe it was the final piece missing for his recovery. 

 

With a determined push, he opened the door. And just like the first time, the sight of all the paintings made his head spin as he stood in the door, wrestling the last memories he had of this room to the back of his mind. He forced himself not to glance at the bed as he took a look around – but like a puppet on a string, he found his gaze drawn back to the bedframe, and the picture leaning against it, covered in fabric. He fought to regain control over his frozen body, slowly moving forward as if he were trying to soothe a spooked animal. 

 

“Nando...?”

 

Once again, he ignored Iker as he knelt down next to the painting – and then pulled off the cloth with a quick flick of his wrist. It was a portrait, half-finished as he had guessed. But that wasn't what made his eyes go wide as he stared at the canvas. It was Sergio. Sergio as he'd rarely seen him, with a careless grin and his laughing eyes staring right at the observer. It was a mesmerising sight and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. As he took in every line and every shade of colour, something was nagging him at the back of his mind, but he couldn't grasp it properly. 

 

“Your uncle couldn't finish it in the end, and he regretted it deeply.”

 

Iker's voice was soft and quiet, but it hit Fernando like a blow to the gut. He suddenly realized what had been the truth all along, what was so evident in the picture, in everything he'd experienced in this house. “They were in love, weren't they?”

 

There was a long pause, and then soft rustling as the demon moved into the room and carefully settled down on the floor beside him. “It's a bit more complicated than that, but yes... I guess you could say they were.”

 

Fernando shook his head as he stared at the painting, shocked to the core by his own realization. All of a sudden, everything made sense. But- “I can't believe I didn't see it.”

 

“To be honest, I don't think they were able to see it, either.” Iker sighed and pulled a hand through his hair. “Their relationship had been different from the start, you know. The fact that Javier taught Sergio how to live again drew them close, and their respect for one another only increased with each year that passed. But as Javier grew older, Sergio remained the same... and they couldn't touch, either. It was a different kind of love, but that doesn't mean it was any less deep.”

 

Fernando tore his eyes from the painting and turned to Iker who was watching him like a hawk. He knew the question was evident in his features, so he decided not to suppress it. He needed to know. “Do you think he cared for me just because he... he saw my uncle in me?”

 

“No.” The answer was quick, but steady, and Iker reached out to gently ruffle his hair. “He loved you for you, I'm sure.” But again, in a different way.

 

Fernando could hear the silent appendix, but as he waited for the disappointment to rise, he found there was nothing of the sort. Only calm acceptance, and relief,  _relief_ that they could finally be together. Javier and Sergio had obviously been meant to fall in love, had meant to be soulmates even, and he looked up at the ceiling as he imagined them sitting together on a cloud, watching over him. The silly image made him grin, and as laughter quickly rose in his throat, he didn't hold back.

 

“What?”

 

“I just...” He wheezed as a new wave of laughter hit him, and he had to force himself to calm down enough to get the words out. “I just imagined them sitting on a cloud together, watching us.”

 

Iker chuckled at first, but then it changed to outright laughter, and it took a while for them to settle again. “Nando?”

 

“Yeah?” 

 

His voice was a bit breathy from laughing so hard, and Iker smiled at him. “Are you okay?”

 

He thought about it for a moment, listening to the calmness in his mind, the relief and the deep understanding of the truth, and he returned the smile. “Yeah. I'm okay.” More than okay. He jumped up to his feet, renewed energy shooting through his body. “If you'll excuse me...”

 

“What?” In his surprise, Iker took a moment longer to find his footing, and Fernando barely caught the words as he called after him down the hall. “Where are you going?”

 

“To the workshop.” As he rushed down the stairs, he directed a wide smile at the ceiling. “I'll finish what you started, uncle!”

 

_ I'll make it right. _

 

 

— † —

 

 

“Nando!”

 

Oh no.

 

“Nando, come on! Get up!”

 

“Five m'r m'nutes...”

 

“No.” Out of the blue, Iker pulled at his blanket and Fernando wasn't fast enough to curl his fingers around the top to stop him. Gone. Argh. “I know you and Cesc stayed up late, blah blah, and you thoroughly enjoyed the wine he brought, blah... But you gotta get up. It's half past one.”

 

“So what?”

 

“There's someone new moving into number 4 across the road. You should be a nice neighbour and go introduce yourself, maybe help with the furniture.”

 

Fernando groaned. “No reason to wake me up! Why don't _you_ go?”

 

Iker huffed like a father who was annoyed by the same old discussion with his unreasonable son. “They're your age, and you need to have some human contact.” Fernando groaned loudly, and he almost missed Iker's next words they were so low. “Besides, there's someone you should meet.”

 

The way he stressed the word 'someone' struck Fernando as odd, but when he sat up to ask Iker about it, the demon was already gone. Whatever. With an extensive yawn, he crawled out of bed and tumbled over to the window, narrowing his eyes against the merciless midday sun. He could see the moving van and two guys walking back and forth between the car and the house, carrying lamps and chairs and packing cases. _Awesome._

 

He shrugged and turned to look up at the painting hanging above the bed. “What do you think, Sergio?” He imagined the ghost rolling his eyes and having a laugh at his hangover, and he grinned. “Yeah, yeah... I'm going.”

 

He had managed to finish the painting, working all night to get it done in time for the exhibition, and – if he was honest with himself – the result was so bloody brilliant the gallery owner had no choice but to include it at the last minute. There had been chunks of dried paint still clinging to some strands of his hair when he shakily opened the exhibition with a short speech, but as he walked through the gallery, awkwardly dodging the praise and the numerous offers of commissioning future works, he couldn't remember when he'd last felt so alive. And as he hung on to that thought, he didn't even feel guilty. Sergio had traded his life for his own, and the least he could do was not to waste it with sorrow. 

 

Even though, at times, it still stung to think of the ghost, there was no way in Hell he'd part with that painting, and Cesc had kept his promise, crashing the parade of the gallery owner with another unbelievable costume, charming everyone present and collecting the four pieces she's surrendered to him – including the portrait. Many people had asked him whom it showed, but he never replied. That was a secret he wasn't ready to share.

 

A shower and a reasonable amount of painkillers later, he was sidling down the pavement, cursing the sun and Cesc and the demon's resistance to human alcohol and the birds singing cheerfully in the trees lining the road. “Damn,” he whispered under his breath, careful not to jostle his pounding head too much. “That was a bad idea.”

 

When he reached the house with the number 4, one of the new neighbours was just climbing out of the truck, balancing two tool boxes on his arms. Fernando gave him a tiny wave. “Hey!”

 

The guy jerked his head up with a start, clearly not expecting any visitors, and the sudden movement caused the box on top to slip. Fernando quickly jumped forward and caught the edge before it could slide off. “Sorry. I didn't mean to-”

 

“It's fine.” 

 

He flashed him a very bright smile and Fernando was distracted by the thought that he surely modelled. There was _no way_ in hell someone could look like this – with his skin tanned and perfect and the abs visible beneath the fabric of his shirt and his hair without a strand out of place – and not act as a model. Fernando suddenly felt very inadequate in his simple black shorts and washed-out Black Sabbath shirt. 

 

“Wait a sec.” The guy hopped down onto the pavement and dumped the boxes onto the edge of the van to offer Fernando his hand. “I'm Cris.”

 

Fernando quickly took it, trying not to add an inadequate first impression to the image of a walking fashion disaster. “Fernando. I'm from number 9 down the road. I thought you might like a helping hand.”

 

“Hmm...” Cris regarded him closely for a moment, and Fernando tried to hold as still as possible. _Don't fidget._ “I think I remember your face... You held that exhibition at the market square gallery a few weeks back, right? Your picture was on the flyer.”

 

Fernando couldn't hold back a squirm, complete with an embarrassed smile. “Yeah, I'm afraid that was me.”

 

Cris didn't seem to notice, though. “The pictures were awesome, man! If I had the money, I would've bought one!”

 

“Maybe some day...” 

 

“Yeah.” His new neighbour shrugged, but his friendly smile didn't waver. “I know that, as a sports therapist, there's not a fortune to make, but we're gonna try and be the best and then it won't matter.”

 

“You're going to convert the house into a practice?”

 

“Yes, together with a friend.” Cris narrowed his eyes as he looked over at the open door of the house. “Speaking of which...” He jogged over and stuck his head inside. “Hey! We have a guest!”

 

A distant 'Really?' could be heard and then the sound of someone jumping down the stairs. Cris said something Fernando didn't get and then took a step back to make room for his friend. His equally handsome friend. _Great._ Once again, Fernando tried to hold his ground as he smoothed out his shirt and then offered his hand to the newcomer, eyes focused on the huge spots of wall paint splattered across his bright yellow shirt (and his equally prominent stomach muscles – ugh). 

 

“Hey, I'm Fernando from number 9.”

 

Warm fingers – tan skin, tattoo around the wrist – grasped his own. “Hey!”

 

His voice was deep and kind, and Fernando finally dared to look up at his face. He froze immediately, like a deer caught in headlights. As his eyes widened, he caught himself thinking that being struck by lightning must feel just like that.

 

He didn't look exactly the same. The hair was cut short, and a lighter shade than he remembered, and his nose was straight and not as prominent. The scar was missing as well. But the _eyes_...! The eyes were exactly the same and Fernando forgot to let go of his hand as his heart skipped a beat. The guy didn't seem to mind, though, and gave him a gentle and curious smile as he held on, their fingers tangling slightly between them. 

 

“Nice to meet you, Fernando. I'm Sese.” 

 

 

— † —

 

 

Wow, I can't believe it's finally done! :D Thank you so much for staying with me! I hope you were entertained to your liking and that the ending made up for the previous sadness...? ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, as always, there are a few words of thanks I need to get rid of here:  
> To Lu: I'm so goddamn glad I lost that bet and you gave me this prompt! And I want to thank you with hearts and kisses and hugs for being so patient with me, and curious, and helpful, and just as lovely as they come! As well as leaving comments and betareading for me, of course, even as I bugged you with changes, new scenes and chapters when the rest of the story had already been posted :3! Thank you!! <3 (I'm so sorry you had to wait for... oh God, is it really eighteen months?! oO)  
> To darthenna: For taking the time to comment on every single chapter. Thank you so much! As always, your input was greatly appreciated and devoured with gusto! :D  
> To anyone else who read, left kudos and commented: Thank you all for spurring me on!


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